The Widow's Dance
by annaamelie
Summary: Widowmaker is the world's most notorious assassin, the epitome of deadly elegance. Affected by neither emotion nor remorse, Widowmaker is the ideal killing machine. Little does the spider know that her world will fall apart after a dangerous encounter. (OW fanfic/WidowTracer)
1. Chapter 1- The Mission

**Author's Note: My very first fanfic! So excited! I just had to do it based on Overwatch- This story is mostly based on Widowmaker, as she has my favorite lore in-game. There will be Widowmaker and Tracer interaction in the story (and lime- never forget the lime)! I'll try my best to stick with many aspects of the lore. Now, without further ado...**

Chapter 1: The Mission

 _Un. Deux. Trois._

A midnight glow peered through a small window. The reflection of a glooming spider upon a blue surface shimmered beautifully.

A booming crack erupted from an airship shooting range. Her eyes were an intimidating red as she scoped in, whilst she gently tapped her finger against the metallic surface of the rifle. A succession of shots and the sound of training bots dropping to the floor rattled through the otherwise eerie silence. A familiar mist caught the corner of her eye.

"Coming to admire my marksmanship, _la Faucheuse_?" Widowmaker purred in her signature French accent.

"You wish, spider," Reaper said. "You might want to call it a night. The boss has informed me to personally deliver your next mission." Reaper beckoned Widowmaker towards a sealed envelope, which caused her to raise an eyebrow.

"Will you be coming along?"

"This is a one-man job. Apparently, Talon is starting to notice that we don't exactly work together too well."

That was an understatement. Their past missions, with a few exceptions, have not succeeded. They were in a tight place when they had to inform their superiors about the failed attempt at stealing Doomfist's gauntlet. Let's not even mention Katya Volskaya's assassination attempt.

"Hm. I assume they don't want any distractions in this mission," Widowmaker blankly replied while taking the glossy envelope from Reaper's grasp.

Reaper shot back, "I don't think I'm the distraction here."

Widowmaker faintly smiled. It disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared. Yet, it was enough for Reaper to notice. "Very witty. You think so highly of me," Widowmaker slowly replied, making careful note to enunciate her words. Then, in a flash, she slung her rifle over her shoulder and grappled onto the next story.

Reaper couldn't help but smirk underneath his mask of indifference. As much as he had wanted to shove Widowmaker off a cliff sometimes, he had grown increasingly used to her presence. She was one of the few people who was completely unfazed by Reaper's demeanor and appearance, which made Reaper gain respect for the assassin. Even if she was only unfazed by the man because her ability to be fazed was systematically suppressed.

Widowmaker walked to her desk and carefully removed the sealant and opened the contents of her envelope.

It was a picture of a little girl and baby boy. _Innocence and Pessah Hale. 5 and 3 months old._

This was interesting. Widowmaker possessed more single-hand confirmed kills than anyone else in the world. Almost all of her targets were buried in the deepest corners of her mind, unless they were extra rewarding- like that Omnic in King's Row. Widowmaker sifted through the faces of dozens of men and women in her mind, but she could not recall ever killing a child before.

" _Why would Talon want me to kill children?"_ Widow thought. She quickly pushed the thought away. She never had second thoughts when it came to a target. She never questioned her superiors. Never. The children are enemies of Talon, and therefore they need to be eliminated.

Widowmaker picked up the paper and continued to read the description. She would have to go to King's Row again. Widowmaker recognized the father's name. Remus Hale, cofounder of an international telecommunications agency. Widowmaker, as usual, wasn't filled with the details of why she had to end the targets' lives. She just assumed that Remus was prodding too deep into Talon's business, and executing his children would send a very personal message.

Widowmaker posted her rifle next to her bed, and went to sleep.

 **A/N: Here is a first chapter to get into. The next one is coming out shortly, I promise!**


	2. Chapter 2- The Huntress

Chapter 2: The Huntress

Everyone who knew of Widowmaker almost exclusively referred to her as _The Huntress._ Once she had her eyes on her prey, she stalked them relentlessly until they drew their final, quiet breath. You never knew _The Huntress_ was coming for you until it was too late. When someone was shot in the temple with such fatal precision in a seemingly impossible situation, you knew who had struck.

Widowmaker departed her temporary aircraft and went to work. She casually hopped onto the uneven London rooftops, gliding off into the night. Her tracks would soon be covered by the downpour of musty rain.

Widowmaker peered through her scope and spotted the mansion, which was surrounded by large guards in black uniforms. They were hardly a problem to the experienced femme fatale.

Skillfully maneuvering past the security cameras and alarms, Widowmaker comfortably crouched on an adjacent rooftop that peered into the mansion's windows.

Widowmaker wished she had a blueprint to the house. Well... no. She didn't. Being given the blueprints of the home would make the mission too easy. She loved the thrill of the mission, the adrenaline rushing through her ears, the excitement of the chase. The only thing that satisfied her more than the thrill of the mission was the death that came along with it. Widowmaker just felt _satisfied_ watching the pupils of her victims dilate after being shot. Watching the warm blood seep through the victim's clothes. Watching their panicked last gasp for what was left of their pathetic life-

Widowmaker smirked as she spotted a little blonde girl play with dolls in what appeared to be a playroom. It was decorated with lilac walls and glowing stars.

The word "hope" was written in cursive alongside a wall.

It didn't take long for Widowmaker to find the other child, sleeping comfortably in a blue crib.

Widowmaker placed a dot over the little girl's head. Time slowed down. She counted her ever faint heartbeats and would instinctively remember to pull the trigger in between heartbeats. But, the gunshot never happened.

Widowmaker frowned. She continued to stalk the little girl, who had now gotten up and towards a closet. The little girl pull out pink shoes.

Widowmaker, with a hint of curiosity, zoomed in on the shoes. Ballet shoes. The little blonde girl giggled ever so quietly, partly because she didn't want to wake her brother up. Even from a distance though, Widowmaker heard her.

The little girl slid her tiny feet in the ballet shoes and proceeded to dance. She was obviously taking ballet lessons. Innocence Hale, albeit a little clumsily, twirled and danced the night away, as if she didn't have a care in the world. As if she were the freest bird in existence.

 _"Is that the Vaganova technique? It's clumsy. No matter, she has time to perfect it."_ Widowmaker subconsciously thought. Then, it hit Widowmaker.

Innocence would never have a chance to grow. She would never experience the nervousness and excitement of her first major ballet performance. She would never feel the stage floor melt at her touch. She would never hear the uproar, the beautiful applaud from the audience. She would never perform the _pas de deux_ upon ballet academy graduation. Oh, never mind ballet. She would never experience life to the fullest extent. Never.

Widowmaker exhaled sharply and accidentally dropped her rifle, which clattered on the floor. _Merde._ Several guards noticed the ruckus, and shone their flashlights towards the rooftop where Widowmaker hid. There was nothing there.

* * *

Widowmaker ran and ran, until her lungs felt as if they were drowning in volcanic ash. She had been sloppy, and now her rifle was inside some random bushes of the mansion's house. Widowmaker didn't care.

Once hidden in an alleyway, Widowmaker collapsed. Her daunting eyes scanned her surroundings. Widowmaker used her grapple to perch herself in an open apartment window, where a man was sound asleep and totally oblivious to an unemotional killing machine occupying his home. Widow saw three police cars survey the vacant cobblestone street Widowmaker ran off to.

Widowmaker closed the window and heard the man stir.

"Rebecca? Is that-"

The poor bastard could not even finish his last sentence, as Widowmaker rapidly jammed her boot into his face. Widowmaker considered leaving the man alive, but decided that it was too risky to let the man live. He would tell authorities that she had been in the square. Widowmaker never left a trace of her whereabouts.

After dealing with the man, Widowmaker surveyed the apartment and found the coast clear. She sat on a burgundy armchair and sighed.

 _Why did I hesitate to shoot the little girl?_

A booming headache caused Widowmaker to silently yelp. She could feel the blood rushing in her head. She tasted metal.

She saw a strong mental image of a beautiful woman. The woman had strong, but slender, legs. Her mere presence gave off a charismatic, charming persona with a hit of wit. Her smile was her most striking feature.

 _It's wrong._

Widowmaker wickedly laughed to herself. Since when did she distinguish between what is right and wrong?

Shit. Widowmaker could already hear her superiors laugh at Widow's failed mission. How is she going to get out of this one? Widowmaker remembered being on thin ice when she returned to her headquarters with no gauntlet. She would be on even thinner ice now that she failed to do possibly the most simple task any skilled assassin could take on.

Was she getting soft?

Her? Soft?

Widowmaker could taste the bitter feeling of being subjected to emotional reconditioning. She didn't remember the procedure, but she remembered the recovery. She remembered an emptiness, a feeling of cruel violation.

 _"I could go back to the mansion, retrieve my rifle, and finish the job,"_ Widowmaker thought, knowing full well that Talon would equip someone else to do her job for her. Widowmaker had too much pride to let that happen.

A torrent of thoughts poured in her head. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she had no idea what to do.

* * *

Smash. Whip. Bake.

Lena Oxton, better known by her callsign Tracer, eagerly waited for her cookies to bake. The holidays were near, and Lena Oxton wanted her girlfriend to come home for a nice surprise. Soft rain pitter pattered on the uneven apartment rooftops. A light red glow illuminated the apartment Lena was situated in.

The sound of a car parking and rattling keys caused the young air force pilot to stand in front of the door with roses in her hand. She had been gone for two months, secretly meeting with Winston and other ex-Overwatch members. The possibility of Overwatch operating once more seemed all too real a possibility. A second Omnic and political crisis was on the verge of erupting. The catalyst? The assassination of Tekhartha Mondatta, renowned Shimbali monk and advocate for peace.

Lena shuddered and shut her eyes to block out the uneasy feeling in her stomach. But, all she could see was a silhouette of a tall, slim figure. Piercing yellow eyes were staring into the depths of Tracer's soul.

That woman.

That murderer.

 _"Why?! Why did you do this?"_

Tracer could still taste the bitterness in Widowmaker's voice when she answered with a simple laugh. There was so much pain in that laughter. So much loss.

Tracer slapped herself. There was no pain in that laughter. And there was a sense of direction. Widowmaker simply sought out the blood, the thrill, the excitement of murder. She was just a psychopath who got a kick out of death.

The sound of a car parking and rattling keys prompted Lena to jump out of her trance and grab a bouquet of roses.

"Oh, did she tell you that? Well, tell her to kiss my ass," Emily said angrily, not realizing she was killing the romantic mood Tracer had set up. Once Emily realized Tracer was home, she hung up immediately and hugged her lover.

"You're back?! I thought-"

"The trip ended early. So, I thought I would surprise you," Tracer beamed, softly kissing Emily on her plum lips.

"Okay, Lena, ya got me. Is that the smell of gingerbread cookies?" Emily said.

"Yes, ma'am! We are staying at home all day and watching chick flicks. First up, _Mean Girls_."

"Never heard of it," Emily laughed.

"How dare you insult me like that? It's a damn classic!" Lena pouted.

Emily nervously laughed and plopped on the worn down couch. She was playing with her nails, a nervous tick that Lena always picked up. Something was bothering Emily.

"Hey, luv. What's wrong?" Tracer asked, taking a seat next to Emily.

Emily sighed. "It's work. I got offered a promotion." Emily started biting her lip.

Tracer was confused. "No, really?! I'm proud of you, luv!"

Emily was currently a receptionist at a renowned law firm. She was attending school to become an attorney, and her ultimate goal was to represent the United Nations. It was an extremely prestigious goal. Some would even argue you needed to fight dirty to reach that goal.

"There's a catch. I have to move to the United States for an internship that almost guarantees I get a higher position in the law firm. Lena, I would have to move to the United States for two years."

Lena sat back in her seat, baffled. She had been waiting two whole months to see Emily again. Now, she will have to wait another eternity? Tracer felt obligated to say she was against the idea, yet Tracer knew the position meant so much to Emily.

"Go, "Lena said firmly, clasping her lover's hand. "You set aside your dreams just to be with me. Now, it's time I set aside my dreams to be with you. I'll quit my job at Overwatch and go with you to the United-"

"No, Lena. Overwatch... it's your passion," Emily sighed. "Overwatch is a part of who you are, a part of what you will always be fighting for- peace, love, justice. I can't ever take that away from you. And let's not even talk about your chronal accelerator."

Lena needed monthly checkups with Winston in order to check the condition of her chronal accelerator, which made sure she never slipped in and out of time. She would travel to Gibraltar at the end of every month. It was already a costly trip, and Lena knew she wouldn't be able to go to Gibraltar if she lived in the United States. The United States was placed under strict aviation law, due to the rising international tensions. This meant air travel was extremely limited. Only high officials were permitted to travel outside of the United States freely.

Lena smiled. "You're absolutely right, luv. It would just be impossible. If that position means that much to you, then I am willing to work out a long distance relationship. It's not like distance has ever been a problem."

Emily smiled faintly and started to tear up. She was lost in her own thoughts.

"Earth to Embug, earth to Embug! Stop with the waterworks, you'll make me cry! Anyways, you need to be cultured. I'll put on _Mean Girls_."


	3. Chapter 3- Apprehended

Emily left for the Americas the following Saturday. Emily practically begged her boss to let her stay in England for at least a little while, yet he insisted that Emily started her internship immediately. Their goodbye, although solemn, was hopeful. Tracer promised to visit Emily as soon as she could.

A few days later, Tracer was in her apartment room, flipping through news channels. She was bored out of her mind. She decided to take a brisk walk through a nearby street market in the evening. Tracer pulled her hoodie over her face in order to blend in with the crowd and hid her chronal accelerator underneath several baggy sweaters.

Aisles and aisles of random knickknacks cluttered the stands with busy shop owners and couples tenderly walked hand in hand down the crowded aisles.

No ordinary person would have even caught a quick glimpse of a figure running on top of a London rooftop. Lena Oxton was no ordinary person.

She saw the figure in the corner of her eye and slowly spun around, scanning the roofs of surrounding buildings.

Curious, Lena promptly walked in a dark alleyway where nobody was present and proceeded to scale the nearest building, which happened to be a boutique store. She dashed towards the place where she last saw the figure, but didn't see a hint of the figure's whereabouts.

Lena Oxton almost jumped off the building in order to proceed with her walk. Then, she looked down at her feet and saw a light, muddy trail of footprints. The shoe prints were... weird? They weren't the average running shoes you'd see anyone use to run across rooftops.

Tracer felt queasy, and her surroundings started spinning. She didn't like this. Not one bit.

"Are these heel prints?"

A moment of realization dawned upon the ex-pilot.

She ran towards the edge of the roof and thought that she would for sure spill her guts out onto the cobblestone streets.

* * *

Widowmaker stared at the red pills she now cupped in her slender hands.

She didn't sleep the entire night, but rather paced back and forth in the dead man's living room and kitchen.

Talon instructed Widowmaker to take two red tablets in the case of a psychological emergency. Widowmaker never used them, nor did she think she ever would.

Widowmaker didn't have to take the pills. It's not the first time she would defy her organization. Well, she wouldn't really call a secret visit to her dead husband's grave an act of defiance.

She didn't want to admit that her husband's death created a vast, hollow emptiness in her heart where he had seemingly occupied it. She didn't want to admit that she held hatred towards her organization for turning her into an unstable mess of a human. She didn't want to admit that her entire sense of self was ruined, and that she wasn't regarded as a human. Amélie didn't want to admit that, everyday of her waking life, she wanted to scream until she collapsed and died.

No. Amélie Lacroix had died that fateful day. On that same day, Widowmaker was born. A monster.

 _"It's who I have become. It's who I will forever be."_

With that, Widowmaker swallowed the pills.

* * *

Lena followed the dirty footprints on the floor as far as she could, before a downpour of rain covered up the heel tracks. Tracer cursed under her breath.

Tracer frowned. Where could that damn demon spawn be?

Tracer scanned the front of the mansion where Widowmaker's footprints had led her. Odd. Not odd. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Widowmaker was here to assassinate whoever lived in that home.

Then, Lena Oxton saw her, scoped in and oblivious to the fact that Tracer was a few hundred yards away from her.

Lena Oxton hesitated for a moment before dashing towards the rooftop, in the process pinning a very confused blue woman.

Widowmaker's look of confusion quickly faded to a look of annoyance. Tracer rolled Widow to the side, paying special attention to Widowmaker's legs so she couldn't pull a reverse flip maneuver off the rooftop. Like their last meeting.

Widowmaker gave a Lena a good punch in the gut, which caused Lena to groan and fall to the side. Lena quickly got up and grabbed Widow's shoulders, repinning her.

Widowmaker, obviously at a disadvantage, reached towards her loaded rifle. Tracer kicked it away and pointed her pistol in Widowmaker's face, which made the assassin freeze.

"Gotcha, love."

Widowmaker simply stared at the annoyance.

Tracer debated whether or not she should kill Widowmaker right there on the spot, but not for long. No matter how terrible Widowmaker was and no matter how many wrongdoings she committed, Tracer could never bring herself to just end Widowmaker's life. That was just the type of person Lena was. Meanwhile, Widowmaker was calculating her chances at rushing Lena and shooting her in the face with her own pistol. The chances were high.

Widowmaker attempted to kick the Brit off of her. She was fast, yet the Brit was faster. Tracer managed to evade the kick. Wow. Tracer forgot just how cold Widowmaker's skin was.

Widowmaker pulled out a knife from God knows where and managed to get on her knees. Tracer evaded the deadly slash by backflipping off Widowmaker. Widow took the opportunity to attempt to jump off the building. Tracer swept Widowmaker's legs, causing her to lose her balance. Widowmaker lied on the rooftop, defeated.

For a moment, Tracer wondered what to do. It was the holiday season, which meant the Blackwatch team, the covert operations division of Overwatch, wasn't currently operating. Tracer could alert British authorities and turn her in.

The media would soon publicize the news that _the Widowmaker_ was captured. The news would become a national headline, and it would result in mixed feelings and actions from the public. Would publicizing Widowmaker's arrest only bring more chaos to the Omnic debate? What would Talon do?

Tracer's primary concern in the moment was getting off the rooftop and in an area where the pair wouldn't be seen.

Tracer suddenly remembered the zip ties she carried in her bag.

"Stick out your arms. If I see you try anything, I won't hesitate to shoot you," Tracer warned, not believing her last statement.

Widowmaker obeyed.

"Stand up and follow my lead," Tracer ordered.

"And if I don't?" Widow snarled back, icily staring down Tracer.

"Then I'll drag you."

Widowmaker thought for a split second and decided that she would prefer getting dragged, just to make things even more difficult for Tracer than they already were.

Lena, obviously being the smaller woman, had trouble dragging Widow. Tracer strapped Widowmaker's sniper rifle around her hip and then picked up Widowmaker, causing Widow to quietly yelp in surprise.

"Change of plans, I'll carry you. Don't try anything stupid," Tracer warned, keeping the weapons out of Widowmaker's grasp.

Lena Oxton dashed off the side of the building and proceeded to walk down an alleyway, paying special attention to make sure Widowmaker didn't fall out of her arms. The rain was pouring hard and soaked the pair. The sparkly drops slid off the French woman, and the moonlight lit up her face. The sky was still a violet shade. Lena wouldn't want to admit that a wet Widowmaker against the background of the sky was a beautifully daunting sight.

Lena found a forgotten alleyway and turned in it. She leaned the assassin against the graffiti-coated wall. Widowmaker didn't speak. She only looked up at the sky.

Lena Oxton was dangerously close to alerting local authorities that Widowmaker was in her possession. But, another idea struck her mind. Overwatch needed intel on Talon and the whereabouts of Widowmaker's other notorious aliases. Surely Widowmaker would also have knowledge on some of Talon's future ploys. If Overwatch possessed valuable intel on a global threat, Talon, then the information could help bolster Overwatch's calls for reactivation.

Lena needed to place Widowmaker in a safe house until she could call Jesse McCree or Winston. They were some of the only people Tracer trusted to sneak Widow in a watchpoint or base, and imprison her until they can drag out the intel.

Where could Lena hide Widowmaker in the time being?

Her home. No. No way in hell will Tracer voluntarily bring Widowmaker into her own home!

But, nobody, not even Talon, would suspect Widowmaker would be residing in Tracer's own home. It would be the perfect place to hide the assassin.

Lena reluctantly made up her mind. "Alright, about three miles from here, we are walking to a safe house. I'm gonna need you to cooperate-"

"Non."

"Then I'll have to carry you three miles-"

"Fine. I'll walk," Widowmaker spat bitterly.

"We're going through the backstreets, to avoid people and the bobbies. Ya know, the British law enforcement."

This certainly was news to Widowmaker. Tracer wasn't turning her into the authorities?

The pair did not talk to one another the entire duration of the walk. Lena placed one hand on Widowmaker's wrist in order to guide the woman and in order to make sure Widow wasn't attempting to escape her improvised bondages.

The pair finally came upon a beige, sturdy building. Tracer's apartment complex. Lena and the assassin entered the building through the "Employees only" backdoor. Lena would take no chances of Widowmaker being spot.

"What did I get myself into?" Lena said, averting the assassin's gaze.

"A real fuck up," Widowmaker replied, this time smirking ever so faintly.

The pair took creaky stairs up to Lena's apartment. Widowmaker walked in first, and the first thing she did was visually map out the entrances and exits of the home.

If Widowmaker wasn't confused before, she was now, although she showed no hint of it.

"Lena Oxton," Widowmaker whispered, staring blankly at the name tag in an office space.

"That's my name," Tracer said. "And you are?"

Widowmaker stared at Lena in a bewildered way.

"Surely you weren't born with the name Widowmaker," Lena continued, taking note of Widowmaker's puzzled look.

Widowmaker subtly picked at her nails, the same way Emily did when she was nervous.

"My name?"

"Mmhmm..."

"If you haven't noticed, I'm standing in your living room like a wet dog. Do me a favor and let me change out of this, oui?" Widowmaker stated, smoothly evading the question. Dripping rainwater created a pool around the area Widowmaker stood.

"Oh. Right. Um... I guess... Follow me," Lena said, still threatening the assassin with a pistol.

Tracer dug through her belongings until she found a pair of handcuffs, which needed a passcode in order to open. Lena handcuffed Widowmaker's right leg to a tough metal bar and cut off the zip-ties in order to let her change in the guest room.

Emily brought all of her articles of clothing with her to the United States. None of Lena's clothing would fit the taller Frenchwoman.

"You don't happen to have an extra suit, do you?" Tracer asked.

Widowmaker raised one eyebrow and smirked. Of course not.

Lena grabbed an old purple nightgown. Tracer thought lending Widowmaker underwear would be too weird.

Lena's nightgown fit... awkwardly on Widowmaker. It was too short and extremely tight. Yet, it had to do.

Tracer had enough action for one day. Tracer reapplied the zip ties to Widowmaker's wrists and did everything possible to assure the assassin couldn't escape the room, which included placing a camera in the corner of the room.

 _"This is overkill,"_ Lena thought. _"No it's not. This is Widowmaker we're talking about here."_


	4. Chapter 4- Amélie

**27 years ago. Annecy, France.**

 _Little Amélie's radiant eyes looked at the chateau in awe from the backseat of a cruise ship. It was beautiful and rustic, with grey bricks and tall columns. The chateau was surrounded by a deep lake. A maid grabbed little Amélie's tender hand. Amélie clutched her satin sweater with her other hand._

 _"Dis bonjour à ton papa," the maid said, guiding Amélie off the ship._

 _A man Widowmaker couldn't remember for the life of her smiled warmly at little Amélie, hugging her ever so tightly._

 _"Why do you never call mama?" she asked sweetly, looking past her father's distraught glances._

 _"I'm too sick, mon petite fille. Come, Amélie, let's explore the home."_

 _Her father carried Amélie to a large room, which had lavish windows providing a viewpoint of the coast. They sat in a vacant armchair._

 _"Chateau Guillard. When you get older, you will one day inherit this beauty. It may look a little beaten now, but once you fix it up a bit, you will restore it back to its formal glory," her father said, more to himself than to his daughter._

 _Amélie's father held Amélie in his arms for an hour silently, staring out into the vast lake. Little Amélie didn't mind. She felt safe wrapped up in her father's arms._

 _"Amélie, I have to tell you something," Mr. Guillard said, wiping Amélie's sleek black hair out of her eyes. "Do you remember me telling you that I have cancer? That I am sick?"_

 _"Oui, papa."_

 _"I'm not in the best health. I have been going to a treatment, but it is not working. Soon, I won't be around anymore. I will die."_

 _"Die?"_

 _"Sleep forever and ever," Monsieur Guillard continued, wiping tears out of his eyes._

 _"When will I see you, papa?"_

 _"Not for a long time."_

 _Amélie started crying, not comprehending everything her father said._

 _"Mon petite fille. No need to cry," he reassured, adjusting the little girl on his lap. "_ _I will always be here for you. Always."_

 _Amélie continued to sob, burying her face in her father's coat._

 _"How about this? Whenever you miss me, look up at the moon. I will be staring at the moon back, and you will know that I am there with you, up in the sky. Does that sound good, Amélie?"_

 _"Oui, papa."_

 _Amélie's father died three weeks later._

 **Two months ago. Annecy, France.**

 _Widowmaker stepped off the small boat, clutching her handbags and belongings. She found her heart racing._

 _The full moon cascaded down Widowmaker's back, her blue skin giving off an eerie midnight glow._

 _The chateau. The one she hadn't seen in years._

 _Widow unloaded her belongings and_ _turned over her passport. She was working under the alias Danielle Guillard. Widowmaker_ _grabbed a bottle of Chardonnay and poured herself a glass, leaning over the balcony and watching the dark water slosh._

 _She swished the glass in her hands delicately before downing the wine._

 _She walked into the first room she could find. A library._

 _Hesitant, Widow searched her bags for her hidden item. Talon would surely wipe her if they found out about the photo in her possession._

 _Her wedding picture. Widow held the memory in her hand, running her fingers over the woman's alien face. She couldn't tell if she missed it. Her past life. She placed_ _it on the shelf quietly, before diverting her attention towards her wine._

 _A beep from her laptop sounded faintly._ _An email from an unknown source._

 _"Lacroix. It's time."_

 _Widowmaker readjusted her dress and set the wineglass down on the floor._

 _She had a mission to go to._

* * *

Widowmaker couldn't sleep, nor did she want to. She simply curled up in the corner of the spare bed and stared blankly at the mahogany walls and popcorn ceiling.

In the other room, Tracer couldn't sleep, mainly because she was monitoring a certain _someone_ from a camera. Tracer couldn't get over the stern and concentrated look on Widowmaker's face.

Tracer didn't know exactly when she fell asleep. But, when she woke up, she immediately ran into the guest room Widowmaker was in.

Widowmaker stopped dead in her tracks when Lena walked into the room. Widowmaker had managed to slip out of the zip ties and proceeded to use them to attempt to saw the chain off the handcuffs that bound her legs to the bed.

Lena sighed. She was still there. "Plus three points for creativity, Widow. But, that won't work."

Lena proceeded to grab the zip ties out of Widowmaker's firm grasp.

"I came to check up on you," Lena groaned, a large headache erupting on her temples.

Widowmaker glared at Lena, shooting sharp daggers straight into Lena's soul.

Tracer wasn't entirely sure yet if she regretted not alerting authorities about Widowmaker's presence. She reminded herself repeatedly that she was doing this for Overwatch, for the eventual greater good.

"Just out of pure curiousity, why haven't you killed me yet? You've had plenty of opportunities to do so," Lena said.

"Funny," Widowmaker said, in a much lighter tone than usual. "I was thinking the same thing."

"Are you hungry?" Lena asked, ignoring Widow's looks of distaste.

"Non."

"Thirsty? Comfortable? If you want, I can change the room temperature."

"Hm. Benevolence. How foolish."

"You should try it sometime."

"Just to make this one hundred percent clear: I can't stand you. And I won't," Widowmaker hissed, pure venom spewing out with every word she spoke.

"Glad the feeling is mutual," Tracer replied, turning around to leave.

Lena pondered over what to do. No active Overwatch agents were present in Europe, other than Winston at the watchpoint in Gibraltar. Lena could single handedly smuggle Widowmaker into the watchpoint and lock her up in a temporary cell. How would she drag out the intel from Widow? Surely Widowmaker wouldn't just give up the information Tracer sought. Torture was definitely out of the question. Overwatch is a peacekeeping organization. They wouldn't stoop down to Talon's size.

A certain incident came into mind, and Tracer wanted to get to the bottom of it. The incident kept burning in her mind, and each minute the excruciatingly painful burn kept getting hotter. She needed to know. A numbing pain tickled the back of Tracer's throat.

"Widow... I've been meaning to receive an answer for a question I've asked before."

Widowmaker looked up at Tracer, confused. What question?

"Why did you kill the Mondatta that night in King's Row?"

The answer should've been simple.

"I was ordered to," was Widowmaker's self explanatory response. She proceeded to look at her nails in vain, uninterested.

Tracer wasn't pleased.

"But why would you, you personally, carry out such a horrific crime?"

No answer.

"You were ordered to. Hm," Lena said, walking back and forth in the room. "Do you know how many tensions have risen due to your assassination? Do you know how horrible I feel, how I wish I never turned back time to save myself? I used to wish you killed me that night. I felt responsible for Mondatta's death. I still feel responsible for his death."

Widowmaker didn't know what to say to that. She didn't necessarily feel horrible for putting Tracer in that situation. Yet, what Tracer just said bugged her, like a pesky gnat. Naturally, Widow ran on autopilot. "The enemies of Talon need to be eliminated. Instructions that are not fulfilled will be met with consequences."

A shiver ran through Tracer's spine. How could she look Tracer right in the eyes and say that?

"Do you even care about the repercussions of your fucking actions?" Lena yelled, unable to contain herself. "Do you even realize how many people have been hurt by you, physically and emotionally? Do you even care? You're a selfish, cold, cruel bitch who only seeks blood-"

"Since when do you know anything about my intentions?" Widowmaker interrupted, sharply sitting up from the bed.

Widowmaker's mind was breaking all over again. The red pills, which were supposed to give Widowmaker a clean and obedient state of mind, seemingly failed to work properly. And now, due to sloppiness, she would be imprisoned until she was dead.

At least she would be with her Gérard.

"Yes, I love the feeling of killing. Watching the eyes of my victim dilate. Watching their limp bodies crash onto the floor. They were nothing before, and they are nothing after. They never mattered. The rush! The adrenaline, the excitement- oh, the blood," Widowmaker continued, her voice inappropriately sensual.

Tracer wanted to bolt for the door. This was heading towards a direction she didn't intend to cross.

"You... you monster," Tracer whispered.

Widowmaker's anger had boiled up inside her. It was slowly seeping out, like a faulty leak coming out of a rusted pipe.

It took years, but Widowmaker saw herself slowly loathing Talon, loathing what they'd done to her. The catalyst? The moment Widow placed a single rose on her husband's grave. It was then that she realized just how much she had lost. Widowmaker used to feel disgusted with herself for feeling hateful towards Talon. But her subtle discontent with Talon was there, alive and breathing. It had always been there, deep down inside.

And here was Tracer, giving her unsolicited input on something she knew nothing about.

 _You monster._

"Ask me what Talon had done to make me love that feeling. I've been broken, turned into some sadistic murderer. Ask me what Talon would do to me if I failed to comply with them, if I dared to disobey them. They would break me even more, turn me into an even more fucked up version of myself."

Tracer widened her eyes. Widowmaker started choking. "Everyone I had ever loved or had ever come close to loving has either died, turned against me, or pretended I had never existed. Do you know, Tracer, how it feels? To be forcibly dragged out of your life, to be played with like a deck of cards? Everything was taken from me- my husband, my sense of self-"

At this point, Widowmaker's face was covered with tears and she was visibly shaking. She cursed herself for spilling her heart out to, of all people in the world, Tracer. But, she said it. And it wouldn't be a lie if she said that she would die satisfied in this exact moment.

"To answer your initial question, Tracer, I committed the act because I believed Talon was doing something for a bigger and greater purpose. That Talon wanted me to assassinate that omnic for an ulterior motive," Widowmaker laughed coolly. "I realize that I've known better. You're right. I am selfish. Cold. Cruel. A monster."

"Widow, I'm," Lena began to stammer.

"You have no idea! You have no right to-"

Widowmaker buried her face in her own legs and continued to cry. Widowmaker tried composing herself. She hadn't cried in years. Yet, no matter how much Widowmaker wanted to stop crying, the tears kept on flowing, like a flimsy log being tossed around at the edge of a waterfall.

Tracer didn't know how to handle the situation. She backed out of the room.

* * *

Emily?" Tracer quietly said over the phone, hoping Emily actually picked up.

"Hey! This is Emily G. I'm sorry! I'm not available right now. If you would like to get in contact with me, please leave a-"

"Damn it," Lena murmured underneath her breath.

She might as well check up on Widowmaker for the thirteenth time. That woman made Lena anxious.

Before Lena turned, she looked though her belongings for a flash drive Winston had given her. The flash drive containing all the remaining intel Overwatch had. After the Petras Act, which prevented Overwatch from operating, every piece of intel was seized by the United Nations. Or so the United Nations thought.

Tracer had promised Winston that she wouldn't look through the flash drive due to confidentiality.

"Sorry, big guy," Tracer said, plugging the flash drive into the laptop.

Tracer scanned over the contents of the flash drive for half an hour, finding nothing on Widowmaker.

She finally came across a page, seemingly vacant.

 _Widowmaker. Description: blue hair and skin. 5'9. Affiliation: Talon. Marked as highly dangerous._

Teacher frowned. Was this all the information Overwatch had on Widowmaker?

Who was she?

Widowmaker was bored out of her mind sitting in the guest bedroom. She was playing with the end of the nightgown Tracer gave her nights before.

Lena walked into the room, hoping Widowmaker wouldn't notice. Widowmaker was facing the opposite direction of Lena, staring at the floral curtains that concealed Widowmaker's view of the outside world.

"I figured that, one day, I would be apprehended for my actions. Talon will kill me before I spill any of their secrets to the world. In fact, they're probably looking for me right now. It's all over. I'm a tool. I have served my purpose, and it's time for me to be thrown away," Widowmaker contemplated.

"Widow, you're not an object. You're a human being," Tracer said, feeling obligated to do so.

Widowmaker fell silent. She picked up a strawberry off the fruit platter Lena left earlier and nervously nibbled on it.

"You know, Widow, you have a lot of nervous ticks," Lena added.

"Do I now?" Widowmaker vocalized, facing Tracer.

"You bite your nails and bottom lip. You don't look at me in the eyes when you're uncomfortable. You play with your fingers and hair. You fidget-"

"I never viewed you as the observant type," Widowmaker harshly replied, still nibbling on the strawberry.

"You also insult people when you feel attacked."

Widowmaker fell silent once more. She was contemplating something, choosing her next words wisely. She was dumbfounded. Nobody had ever noticed, nor cared enough, to pick up on her subtle mannerisms. Yet here was Tracer, reading Widowmaker as if she were a three part novel.

Leann jumped as the lights in the room flickered. A huge crackle boomed the sky, and the downpour of heavy rain splattered the window.

Lena walked over towards the window and peeled the curtains out of the way, setting them on the ground.

"Amélie," Widowmaker whispered in a hush.

"Excuse me?"

"Amélie. My name was Amélie."

 **Dis bonjour à ton papa. Say hello to your father.**

 **A/N:Thank you so much for reading so far! I really appreciate you all (: I can't wait for more!**


	5. Chapter 5- Vulnerable

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and the criticism so far! My number one priority with this fanfic is for it to be fun and entertaining! Anyways, happy reading!**

Tracer locked her bedroom door behind her as she took off her chronal accelerator, replacing it with a bracelet that would work when she was within range of the device. She grabbed her laptop and phoned Emily. No answer. Tracer frowned. She attempted to call Emily a second time. Emily picked up. Tracer decided that it would be best if she didn't mention the fact that Widowmaker was sound asleep in the guest bedroom across the hallway. It would compromise everything.

"Lena? Isn't it late over there?" Emily asked.

"Yeah, but I can manage. How is the United States? Have you settled in?"

"The United States is... interesting. I just moved from the hotel to my apartment this morning."

Before Tracer could respond, Emily's attention diverted towards something else.

"It's work. Can I call you back?"

"Sure, luv."

Emily hung up. Lena sighed and went to sleep.

* * *

Amélie woke up in a king sized bedroom. Bright sunlight snuck through the blinds of the curtains, tickling her eyes. A diamond chandelier hung above the bed. The walls were a pastel blue and purple. Amélie instinctively reached out towards her left, where she could feel a body stir next to her. Gérard.

"Honey?" Widowmaker said lazily as she stretched.

No response.

"Gérard dear?"

Still no response.

Amélie frowned and turned towards her husband's direction. What she saw instead was a lump of pillows where her husband was supposed to be.

All of a sudden, muscular arms grabbed Amélie from behind, causing her to shriek. The arms wrapped around Amélie's neck, forcing her into a headlock.

" _Salope_."

"Gérard," Amélie managed to yell as she was gasping for air. Her lungs felt as if they were going to explode.

" _Ta guele! Mais maintenant, tu devras le faire_ ," an icy voice hissed from behind. Gérard.

Amélie began to slowly lose consciousness. All she could do was lie on her bed and wait.

Amélie's world went hazy. She was floating in the air, completely unattached to her physical body. She was looking down at herself. Amélie's eyes slowly lost their vibrant sheen and became a ghostly white. Her fair skin paled to a rotten grey. Amélie couldn't talk, nor scream. She simply kept floating up. She watched in horror as a man who Amélie couldn't recognize anymore violated her, his condescending grey eyes exploring every inch of her body.

A single tear rolled down Amélie's face.

* * *

It was early. A quick check via the camera assured Tracer that Widowmaker finally fell asleep.

Tracer walked into the guestroom and observed a sleeping assassin. Widowmaker's face was fixated in a stern frown. She was having a nightmare. She was tossing and turning, tightly clutching onto the sheets. Widow moaned as she stirred, and nearly jumped when she saw Lena looking down at her. Widowmaker forgot where she was. She almost yelled in surprise.

"Sh sh sh. It's okay, Widow. It's just me," Tracer said in a soothing manner. "You're alright."

 _You're alright._

Widowmaker didn't realize that tears were streaming down her face. She flinched as Tracer reached out, but soon calmed down as Tracer wiped away her tears. There was something about Lena's touch that made everything okay, that made Widowmaker want to melt in Lena's careful hands. Tracer had suffered with frequent nightmares in the past, but nothing to this extent. This wasn't the first time Widowmaker had violently woken up from a dream. Each nightmare Widowmaker had was different, and varying in degree.

"What was the dream about, love?" Tracer whispered kindly.

Widowmaker paused. She rarely thought about her nightmares after waking up, let alone talked about them with another person.

"It hardly matters now," Widowmaker said defensively.

"Just what is going on inside that head of yours?" Lena whispered, low enough for Widowmaker to overlook. Every word, every hint, every action that escaped the assassin made Tracer have a new perspective towards Widowmaker. And it was driving her insane. Lena was usually good at reading women. Yet, Widowmaker stated everything with such intent that it was close to impossible to crack her.

Tracer gazed into Widowmaker's eyes. Widowmaker stared back, powerful, blank, and fearless. When she was focused, she was good at masking her emotions. It was all a facade. Tracer knew it. Lena decided to reveal something about herself in order to get Widowmaker to possibly open up.

"Do you want to know what I'm scared of? Time," Tracer added.

"You? Scared of time?" Widow replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Time's a scary concept when ya think about it. It never stops, slows down, or shows remorse. Anyways, I used to be an airforce pilot. A damn good one, too. I was recruited to test a prototype of some new aircraft a few years ago. That was the worst decision of my life."

Tracer frowned. "Something went wrong, and I was teleported into nothingness, into the dark pit of time. I was here, but not really here at the same time. I remember fading in and out of reality. I remember a darkness, just floating through time and seeing everyone I loved, but not being able to touch them, communicate with them, tell them I love them. I remember how terrifying it was. How empty I felt. I would be stuck in some sort of fucked up space time continuum for the rest of eternity."

"The only thing anchoring you in the present is that time device situated on your chest," Widowmaker said, remembering how she damaged it when she assassinated Mondatta that night in King's Row.

Tracer's voice became hoarse. She closed her eyes. "Yes. It is. I owe my life to the scientist that designed it. Fading in and out of time changed me forever. I learned to appreciate life. Savor it. Spend it with the people I love, because time will keep ticking and I'll only grow closer to death."

Widowmaker sat in silence and listened, which Tracer appreciated. Tracer felt somewhat relieved to get her thoughts off of her chest.

Widowmaker cleared her throat. What was she supposed to say to that? She didn't know what made her speak. "I hate showing any form of emotion. Your emotions make you vulnerable. Once someone uses your emotions to their advantage, you're defeated."

"Emotions make you stronger, love. Emotions make you... human. Sure, they can suck at times. But, the more we follow them, the more we can trust our emotions to carry us forward in our lives. To help us understand others. Emotions are a beautiful thing."

"Well, with that reasoning, time is also a beautiful thing," Widowmaker added. "It brings order to our lives. It drives us to act. Time is scarce. With scarcity comes value. Humans learn to value their time with others, to value their life."

Tracer nodded in agreement. Quite frankly, she was freaked out that Widowmaker helped her feel better.

Tracer shook her thoughts away."Excuse me," she mumbled, walking out of the room and into the bathroom. Her body ached. A nice, hot shower was what she needed. No, a boiling, scathing one.

Widowmaker waited until she heard Tracer turn on her shower head before making her move. She yanked the chain of the handcuffs, semi-freeing her hands. The zip tie from the previous day had weakened the chain just enough for Widowmaker to yank it off. She just needed the perfect opportunity, one wrong move on Tracer's part, to escape.

Widowmaker rolled off the bed silently and simply walked into the living room, deciding to search the house for her number one priority: the equipment Tracer confiscated.

Widow was convinced that the Brit hid her rifle bag in the master bedroom. Widowmaker opened all of Tracer's drawers before discovering her rifle, along with her catsuit, in a walk-in closet.

Now, to deal with Tracer. Widowmaker theoretically could end it all while Tracer was vulnerable in the shower. It wouldn't be the first time Widowmaker surprised someone while they were bathing. But, Lena's words echoed in the back of Widowmaker's mind.

She would spare Tracer. Besides, Widowmaker would not compromise an escape. Tracer was too dangerous of an opponent to combat.

"Adieu, chérie," Widow tauntingly whispered, holstering her rifle over her right shoulder. Widowmaker was disappointed. This escape was too easy.

Widow unlocked the front door and made a run for it, blindly running into a dark, vacant corridor. The coast was clear.

It didn't take long for Widowmaker to be stuck once more. She really didn't want to go back to the location she was supposed to meet the Talon freighter at. She was given plenty of time to complete the mission. Her brief absence would be unnoticed from Talon.

She hated Talon, with a passion. She could go into hiding, run away-

Where would she go? Talon knew of her chateau, and even allowed Widow to make it her base of operations in France. It didn't help that she was an internationally wanted terrorist, and it certainly didn't help that Talon wouldn't just let their prized possession go. No, they would come for her. And worse.

She made a choice. She would take the failed mission and the punishment from her Talon superiors. For the little girl that would have a chance to dance.

Widow knew that someone else would come for the little girl and boy. She needed to warn Pessah Hale of his childrens' impending deaths.

Widow was permanently bound to Talon, and as long as she did the rest of their biddings, she would be fine. Right?

* * *

Tracer decided that the hot, boiling shower was much needed. It soothed her, made her feel relieved of all her worries.

Tracer grabbed a glass of water and went towards the guest room.

Nothing made sense to the former British Air Force pilot. She found herself conflicted over Widowmaker, conflicted over her victimization. Tracer glossed over Widow's words carefully. Was Widowmaker truly a victim in the grand scheme of things?

Tracer dropped the glass on the ground, water seeping through the mahogany carpet.

Widowmaker was gone!

Tracer ran in her bedroom and slammed open the closet. Sure enough, the sniper rifle was gone.

"Shit!" Tracer urgently whispered. "This is bad, really fucking bad."

How could she be so careless?

Tracer sat against the wall, burying her face in her legs.

* * *

Widowmaker made it to the freighter and announced a mission failed. Surprisingly, she didn't get reprimanded from her superiors. At least, not initially.

It had been a few weeks since the incident with Tracer. It was at the back of Widow's mind. There were more urgent matters at hand, such as passing her routine evaluation. She was scheduled to have a physical and psychological evaluation once every three months. Widowmaker was well aware that her newly found emotions were brewing out of control.

But, those same emotions made her feel alive, made her feel like one aspect of her life was not being restricted. It was something Talon will never take away from her. She was not willing to let that go.

Widow sat in a vacant lounge of the Talon aircraft, consumed in her thoughts. She took a deep draft of her cigarette, exhaling the fumes slowly. The large windows provided a view of the buzzing city underneath her. The air was still, uncomfortable, vaguely familiar.

"Reaper. What a pleasant surprise," Widowmaker said, not looking behind her. "What do you need?"

Reaper glided over to the seat next to her. "I'm not here for business. Just checking up on my favorite spider."

Widowmaker snapped her head in Reaper's direction, her eyebrows raised. Widow was quick to learn that Reaper only paid her visits when Talon needed something done. When he needed something done.

"What do you need?" Widowmaker repeated.

"Where'd you get the cigarette?"

Widowmaker scoffed. "How is it your concern?"

"Heard you didn't complete your most recent mission. Are you getting soft, Widow?"

"Please. I'm offended. The brats weren't present at the location sent to me."

Reaper leaned closer towards the window.

"It's something, isn't it?" Widow said, referring to the city underneath them. "It makes you feel as if you are an ant in the grand scheme of things. Gives a new definition to insignificance."

Reaper grunted in response. The pair sat in silence, each exchanging mutual glances here and there.

"If I were you, I would watch myself," Reaper vocalized, leaning back into the couch. "Wouldn't want Talon to know about your secret possession."

Widowmaker's throat tightened. "What are you insinuating?"

Reaper took out Amélie's wedding photo. Widowmaker gasped and immediately snatched the photo out of his hand. She swiftly placed a hidden blade against his throat. "Where the hell did you get this? Tell me before I stick this knife deep into your-"

"Watch your tongue, Lacroix," Reaper said, unfazed. "I'm doing you a favor here. I took the photo before anyone else discovered it."

She retracted the blade and leaned close to Reaper, listening to each word he spoke attentively.

"Several members of the Talon council visited France for an 'excursion'. Borrowed your little base of operations for the weekend. If I didn't pick this up, you may have had a surprise reset days ago."

"Why?" Widowmaker said, completely baffled by the whole situation. "Why would you-"

"Owed Gérard a favor. Figured I could cash it in."

Widowmaker laughed, clearly pissed. "Don't bring him into your little scheme." Just what was Reaper up to?

Widow got up from her seat and walked towards the window, picking up her unlit cigarette from the floor.

"You remember Gérard," Reaper said. "Interesting. When you became a member of Talon-"

"Gabriel," Widowmaker interrupted. She never referred to Reaper by his first name. "That's enough." It was a risky subject to talk to Reaper about, especially considering his unknown motives.

Widowmaker sighed. Gérard. His name carried a heavy weight on her shoulders.

"What do you remember about him?" Reaper asked.

Widowmaker reached for her rifle bag and began to walk out of the room. With an air of superiority, she said, "I remember he had fine taste in women."

* * *

Pessah Hale unlocked his front door and clumsily threw off his coat. It had been a rough night of negotiations. He guessed that was the vice that came with business.

His joy in life was his children. They were his pride and jewels, his reason for breathing in the cruel world he lived in.

Pessah Hale tiptoed in his daughter's bedroom, wiping off the drool dripping down her chubby face. Then, he noticed. A folded piece of paper was left by the bedside table.

The man curiously unfolded the paper, not knowing what to expect.

The contents of it made him white from fear. He needed to get his children out of the house.

 **Translations: Salope. Bitch.**

 **Ta guele! Mais maintenant, tu devras le faire. Shut up! I should never have trusted you.**


	6. Chapter 6- Operation Algeciras

**A/N: I was originally going to post next month, but Retribution (the comic came out, I love Gabriel and Gérard!) and the event has me all sorts of hyped up so enjoy!**

The Talon doctor that usually handled Widowmaker sat in a chair across from her, scribbling in his notebook. Widowmaker picked at her fingernails, patiently waiting for the man to proceed. She bit her lip.

Stay calm.

The doctor cleared his throat. "Today won't be a regular physical and psychological checkup, Lacroix. A special guest has arrived to make slight... adjustments."

Widowmaker perked an eyebrow. What was this fool on about?

Two official soldiers walked into the room first. A tall, pale woman swiftly entered the room, gliding across the tile floor. She was wearing a black business suit and clear eyeglasses. Her ginger hair was illuminated by the gloomy lights.

"Moira," Widowmaker murmured, tightly grasping the woman's hand during their handshake. A bitter taste erupted in Widowmaker's mouth. Stay calm.

"How are you feeling, Lacroix?" Moira asked condescendingly, putting on her right glove.

"I don't feel. That's the point, isn't it?" Widowmaker replied, her tone low and dangerous. This caused Moira to pause briefly, eyeing Widowmaker. The two soldiers in the room also glanced at one another.

"It is indeed."

Moira walked around Widowmaker, inspecting her up and down. Widowmaker stood straight up, not daring to move.

"Sit down on that chair," Moira instructed, readjusting her eyeglasses. "Guards, give my patient some privacy and step out of the room."

Widowmaker and the two soldiers obeyed. Moira grabbed Widowmaker's right arm and held it straight outwards, before Moira momentarily prickled a vein. Widowmaker felt a numbing sensation.

"It'll make your metabolism more efficient," Moira said, reading Widow's mind. Widowmaker inwardly let out a sigh of relief.

"Rather impressed by your recent works, Lacroix."

"Just doing what I do best," Widow replied, unsatisfied with herself.

"Doomfist regarded you highly at our last meeting. In fact, the entire council regarded you highly. Which is partly why I decided to pay you a visit," Moira said.

Widowmaker listened to each and every word attentively.

"You have been personally invited to partake in a special mission, directed by Mr. Cain himself."

Now this was unexpected. Widowmaker had only heard of Cain and his involvement with Talon. He was one of the respected directors of Talon, known exclusively for being a staunch, real man.

"It would be an honor to accompany him in a mission," Widowmaker replied, showing interest.

"Oh, it would. You will be traveling to Spain to meet with him, where you two will further discuss the contents of the mission. I can only tell you that London will be receiving a... hefty surprise."

London. Widow thought about Tracer.

"Your vitals are functioning well. A bit of hypertension, but nothing that I can't fix. You are taking all of your prescribed medicine, aren't you?"

"Twice daily."

"I assumed that was the case. Have you had to use the emergency pills the neuropsychologist issued you?"

The red pills. The pills that didn't work on Widowmaker.

"Non," Widowmaker said.

Moira squinted her eyes faintly. "As expected. You've made great progress since I first altered you all those years ago. And you're only going to function better, I can assure you that. You easily remain as one of my finest genetic experiments. Be proud of that."

Experiment. That was all Widowmaker was to Moira.

"When shall I receive the information for the mission?" Widowmaker pressed, eager to leave the demented woman's presence.

"I will have the instructions delivered to your compartment in several weeks, along with medicine to relieve your hypertension."

Moira grabbed her clipboard. "When was your last mental reset?"

"Three months ago."

Moira held Widowmaker's chin up and studied her eyes. Her lying eyes. Widowmaker was a master of masking everything behind them.

"That'll be all. You may leave now."

That was it? No brain imaging? No further questions? No more prodding?

"Very well," Widowmaker replied curtly.

"One more thing, Lacroix."

Widowmaker paused in the doorway, turning her head towards Moira's general direction.

"Keep your eye on Cain. He tends to stick his nose in places it doesn't belong."

* * *

Tracer sat alone in a coffee shop, stirring her cup of goodness with a silver spoon. It was approximately 4 in the morning. Weeks had passed since her last conversation with Emily. She hadn't received a single text, a single indication from Emily about how their relationship stood. Yet, she kept dialing Emily.

Lena was beginning to get hit with frustration. She was fed up for trying and getting nowhere as a result of it. Fine. If Emily didn't want Lena to try, she wouldn't.

Lena plugged in the flash drive she wasn't supposed to look at for the umpteenth time, revisiting the page about Widowmaker, as if new information on Widowmaker would just magically appear on the page.

Tracer's phone beeped. A text message appeared from an unknown number.

 _Rendezvous at w.p. tomorrow. 8 am sharp. -JM_

Jack Morrison. Tracer still couldn't shake the thought of him suddenly turning up from the grave, as if he didn't already put her in emotional distress. Tracer had truly mourned Morrison when he was announced deceased at Zurich. Now that he was alive, he spearheaded covert operations with former agents until Overwatch could officially be recognized as a legal organization. Which may never happen. Lena hadn't had a real mission in forever. She was rather excited to go back on the chase. She didn't want to operate illegally, yet no other organizations were willing to combat terrorism and violence quite like Overwatch. Tracer couldn't just twiddle her thumbs and let the world around her fall apart. No, she would rather risk it all for the sake of humans and omnics. Besides, work kept her mind off of things.

Everything about the text message was puzzling. At Watchpoint Gibraltar? Was it going to be the new base of operations? There was only one way to find out.

To her pleasant surprise, Lena wasn't the only one at the watchpoint.

"Looking good, Jesse," Tracer remarked, noting the new haircut he sported.

"Nice to see you too," McCree replied, opening his arms wide when Tracer shot in for a hug. "Got a cigarette by any chance?"

"Mmhmm. And a lighter if ya need one," Tracer said, reaching in her bag for the items. "I thought you were in the United States. Ya know, doing some shady shit with a gang of cowboys."

"Figured I could help Morrison this time around."

"How did you travel out of America freely? Aren't you internationally blacklisted?"

"Bribery and lots of whiskey. Nah, Morrison snuck me out. He has a way of doing things, that's for sure. Especially considering he's still legally dead."

"Where is Morrison?"

"In the laboratory with Winston," McCree said, smiling as he puffed his cigarette. Tracer was well aware that Winston was operating at Watchpoint Gibraltar. At the end of every month, she traveled to Gibraltar in order for him to check up on her chronal accelerator.

"Winston's not accompanying us on this mission," McCree continued. "It'll be just you, me, and the old fart."

"What the hell are you two talking about?" former Commander Jack Morrison said, slyly coming up from behind the pair.

"Um, just small talk with the time traveler. You know, the usual... stuff," McCree stuttered, adjusting his hat. Tracer covered her mouth and smiled.

"Hm," Jack vocalized. "Thank you fellow comrades for showing up on such short notice."

Soldier 76 proceeded to take out a blueprint of a facility from his back pocket, spreading it over the solitary table in the room. Tracer and McCree gave each other a puzzling look, before circling around the table.

"I just got recent intel on a Talon operation undergoing in King's Row. Supposedly, they're going to launch a new God Program. It doesn't look too good. It's likely going to overpower most artificial intelligence in the city and turn Omnic police forces against humans throughout London."

A God Program is a powerful A.I. that started the first Omnic Crisis. It is capable of manipulating machinery and omnics, turning them against mankind. Launching a new one, especially in the already tense London, would be beyond catastrophic.

"Well, then. What are we supposed to do about it?" McCree interrupted.

"I'm getting there, Agent McCree," Jack said, his patience being tested. "I've located the site of the God Program, where it will be activated. The facility is located in the abandoned city of Algeciras, Spain. Not too far from here."

Morrison pointed to a specific room. "You two will sneak into the facility. Agent Oxton will plant a bomb in this main room while McCree will plant two on the opposite end of the building and trigger it- once you two are safely out, that is."

Morrison cleared his throat. "There will be Talon operatives on the lookout for any intruders and signs of danger. I hope you two masters of stealth are prepared, because if any of you are spot, we're done for."

"There isn't another way to safely deactivate the program?" Tracer asked. Even though Talon was composed of terrorists, she avoided compromising lives as much as possible. An explosion would surely kill all of the people in the facility.

"I'm not a big fan of this plan either. Blowing up the damn place is extreme, yet it is the only way we can know for sure that the program won't activate. This is a case of sacrificing the few for the many, Agent Oxton."

Lena didn't want to admit that Morrison was right.

"And security cameras?" McCree pondered.

"I guess we'll find out."

"Why can't we get the damn UN to handle this?" McCree asked. "If we alerted the authorities, more-"

"There is word going around that Talon is working with some members of the UN. Corrupt bastards. We can't risk Talon knowing that there is intel on their operation."

Tracer glossed over the contents of the map and tightly grasped her pistols. This could mean death, this could mean all or nothing. This feeling. She missed it, albeit reluctantly.

"When do we start?"

* * *

"We've successfully located the base. The entire facility is crowded with soldiers. I don't see any immediate entrances or openings," Tracer said over the com, eyeing the huge beige facility from 100 yards away. The facility appeared to be an old warehouse, and it was on the edge of the sea. Smoke was spewing out of large cylindrical chimneys. Crumbling buildings and vacant ships cluttered the area, creating an eerie post apocalyptic environment. The entire city had been evacuated when a nuclear crisis struck the area years ago. It was now a remnant of the old world, a reminder of better days.

Tracer and McCree went around the facility, searching for the side latch Morrison pointed out on the map. As expected, two soldiers occupied the front of it, handling large machine guns. They wore black uniforms, heavily cladded boots, and shoulder pads with the letter T engraved in them. McCree and Tracer were hiding behind a wall, waiting for the opportunity to get rid of the soldiers.

"Target A found," Lena whispered. "Proceeding with caution. Standby." She faced McCree. "How are we going to get past them?"

McCree suicidally rolled on the side of the two large men, stunning them temporarily with his flash bang. The soldiers dropped their guns on the floor, clattering loudly. Tracer took the opportunity to knock one out with the side of her pistol, whereas McCree went behind the other one and choked him out. The sound of the man gasping for air caused Tracer to wince.

"Like that."

Tracer kept a lookout on their surroundings as McCree searched the soldiers for an ID card. "We've successfully entered the facility. No signs of soldiers in the area, just as you predicted."

"Excellent work," Morrison's husky voice said on the other end of the intercom.

The plan was for McCree and Tracer to split up and place their bombs in the designated areas before anyone took notice of their presence.

"There aren't any security cameras inside the facility," Tracer whispered, grasping her pistol that was holstered on her waist.

"Looks like Talon values their privacy," Soldier 76 vocalized. "Immediately proceed to Targets B and C."

"See ya on the other side, Jesse!" Tracer said rather loudly.

"I will if you raise your voice again," McCree remarked, rolling his eyes.

* * *

Widowmaker ducked underneath the door, standing in a control room with a single dim hanging light. It was stuffy in the facility, much to her distaste. Widow heard footsteps approach her from behind.

"Ms. Lacroix. I've been expecting you."

"Director," Widowmaker said, taking in all of Cain. He was a man in his late forties, and he still retained his muscular and broad features. He sported slick, black hair. He was almost a foot taller than the assassin. Widowmaker could tell that he was devilishly attractive when he was younger. His outward mannerism and appearance contradicted his nightmarish dark grey eyes, as they stared into Amélie's soul with malicious intent and grave satisfaction. Widowmaker took an immediate disliking to him.

"Well, well. Aren't you a beaut?" Cain commented, staring Widowmaker up and down.

She crossed her arms, unsure if she should be bothered by the gesture. "All soldiers have been commanded to secure the perimeter."

"Perfect," Cain's said, his voice echoing throughout the the room. "You know, I absolutely admired your work in King's Row. Bystanders of the incident said you headshot the dirty omnic midair?"

"That is correct."

"Impressive. Impressive indeed."

Cain ran his fingers over a control panel, looking down at the floor.

"Agent Lacroix," a frill female said through Widow's earpiece. "Please head to the main corridor. Standby for further instructions."

"If you excuse me-" Widowmaker began to say, already halfway out the door.

"Hold that order," Cain barked, cupping his earpiece and turning it off.

Widowmaker, puzzled, stared at the man behind her.

Cain walked over to Widow, slowly grabbing onto her shoulders and pinning her to the wall.

She could only freeze up as Cain leaned his face in, roughly pressing his mouth against her delicate lips. Cain held Widowmaker's head now, tilting it up slightly. Widow was absolutely appalled.

"Get the fuck off of me," Widowmaker commanded. She regained her strength and shoved the man off of her, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

A hard slap to the face and a kick to the knee was what she got in return, causing her to wince in pain. Widowmaker felt heat rise within herself. Cain was pissed. He slammed Widowmaker on the floor, pinning her arms above her head. Widow blankly stared back, as if she were completely unfazed. Quite the contrary was the case. Widowmaker was scared shitless. She didn't dare reach for her rifle bag, posted against the wall a few feet away from her.

"You like being abused, don't you?" Cain hissed, placing his mouth near Widowmaker's ear and his free hand on her waist. "You're just our little lab rat. Nothing more, everything less."

Those grey eyes. Amélie was reliving her nightmare, reliving the feeling of hopelessness. She could only see Gérard on top of her, violating her body as if she were nothing but a porcelain doll. She was completely petrified, taking the abuse.

"Nothing to say, Lacroix? Just letting me have my way with you? That's a good girl."

Tracer heard the entire interaction from the outside of the control room as she hid behind the door, completely disturbed with the entire situation. Fucking pervert. Nobody deserves to get treated like that. Nobody. She dashed forward and football tackled Cain, who only grunted in response. His head hit the side of the wall before he collapsed to the ground. If Tracer's suspicions weren't confirmed before, they were now.

Widowmaker still lied on the floor, unmoving. Her golden eyes were wide open, and her arms were crossed above her head.

"Shit," Tracer mumbled, kneeling beside the assassin.

"Lena?" McCree's voice from the com said, startling Lena. "I've placed the bombs at Target C. Safely exited the building. Waiting for you."

"I'm in a bit of a situation, McCree."

"Is everything alright?" Tracer could hear the worry betray McCree's calm demeanor.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Hey, head to the meeting point without me. I'll detonate the bombs when I'm ready, which will be soon."

"I'm not leaving without you."

"Jesse," Tracer pleaded, still kneeling beside Widowmaker. "I'll be there before you know it, I promise."

"Fine," McCree said hesitantly. "Be careful, Lena."

Widow slowly began to sit up as Tracer placed an almost unnoticeable bomb in the corner of the room. Widow drew in a deep breath and shuddered as her eyes scanned Cain's body.

"Tracer?" Widowmaker said, startling Lena. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm getting us the hell out of here. I'm going to detonate the bombs after we are safely away from the perimeter."

"And you think I'll just allow you to blow up the facility and mess with our operation?"

"I'm afraid Talon hasn't given me much of a choice. Do you realize how many lives are at stake?"

Lives have always been dispensable for Widowmaker. It was the cruel reality in which she lived in. "Nobody gives a damn about me. Why should I give a damn about everyone else?"

"That's not my way of perceiving things, love. Widow, now is your chance to leave this. All of this. Come with me, and everything will be okay."

"Lena, I... I can't. I want to believe you, I do."

The faint sound of voices down the corridor almost made Tracer faint. She was rapidly running out of options. "Either you and I leave together or we both die here." Tracer raised the remote that would detonate the bombs. She was going to be apprehended regardless. Once those voices came closer, she would have to make a dire decision.

"Have you lost your mind?!"

"I promise you that-"

Tracer paused mid sentence. She heard the sound of feet scurrying down the hallway. The two women stared at the doorway in horror.

Widowmaker was quick to take action. Lena yelped as Widowmaker, without delay, grabbed the remote in Tracer's hands and pinned her to the wall. Widow dug her knee into Lena's back. "You think you can get away with this, Tracer?"

"What happened?" one of the three Talon soldiers said, cautiously approaching the women with his gun raised.

"Our little friend here decided to conduct a surprise attack on Director Cain. Knocked him out. I'll have her apprehended and taken into custody immediately."

"We'll take care of her from here."

"Non, non. I got it."

The soldier raised his eyebrow. "Agent Widowmaker, are you sure?"

"That's a stern order."

Widowmaker's eyes widened once more in indisputable horror as Cain groaned, getting up from his position on the floor. Shit! Did he hear Widow and Tracer's entire conversation? Widowmaker wasn't about to find out.

In one swift maneuver, Widow spun around and grabbed the soldier's gun. The soldiers had little time to react. One of them shot back, missing the women by a landslide. Widow sprayed bullets in their general direction. Tracer ducked, getting her twin pistols out of their holsters. Widow didn't have time to reload as Cain lunged at her, brutally head butting her. Tracer dashed behind the man, sweeping his legs and shooting him down for good.

"Shit," Tracer said, placing Widowmaker's arm around her neck. Widowmaker was knocked out senseless.

Tracer tightly carried Widow and grabbed Widow's rifle bag before promptly dashing out of the room.

Tracer exited the facility the same way she came out with ease. She didn't bother looking behind her as the facility burned up in flames.


	7. Chapter 7- Promise

**Final exams are dooming upon me! Sorry about the wait, thank you for being patient (:**

Emily paced back and forth in her room, unable to keep her mind off of Tracer. She hadn't royally screwed up this bad in months.

Emily was no stranger to long distance. Tracer had often spent weeks, sometimes months, away from home. Emily reminisced over those temporary moments of loneliness. She hated every second of it. And now, she was in bed with some woman she barely even knew. Again.

Emily always hated herself immediately after engaging in one night stands. Yet, she kept having them, like some wicked addiction. Tracer was completely and utterly oblivious to Emily's little flings with women.

It was completely normal to want physical attention when you were lonely, right? It wasn't cheating if you didn't feel emotionally attached to the person you were in bed with. Besides, the sexual encounters were entirely that: meaningless.

 _Bullshit, Emily. And you know it. You have always known it._

The overwhelming feeling of guilt dawned upon Emily. Avoiding Tracer was not going to solve anything. Emily loved Lena.

If she truly loved Lena, would she have betrayed her trust like this?

Emily tiptoed out of the woman's room and exited the apartment without a second thought. She zipped up her sweatshirt and ran down the sidewalk, not entirely sure where she was going. She just needed to clear her mind.

* * *

Tracer peered at the assassin in front of her, not daring to move. She had been watching her for one day, fearing the worst. Yet, the small rises on Widowmaker's chest assured Lena that everything would be alright.

McCree fled to the meeting point and left Tracer a vehicle, allowing her to safely evacuate the location. Tracer assured McCree that she was alive and fine over the phone.

Tracer really needed to move. She stood up from her chair and stretched, feeling automatically relaxed.

It was apparent that Widow wasn't going to wake up anytime soon. Lena went to her bedroom in order to retrieve her laptop, before once more plopping down on the chair situated in the guest room.

Amélie Lacroix.

Lena plugged in Winston's flash drive, automatically opening the content. Amélie Lacroix. It was a beautiful name.

Tracer stopped at a specific page, wandering her eyes over it. Gérard Lacroix. Important member of Overwatch. Spearheaded operations against international terrorist organizations.

Tracer glossed over his report, taking note of the hundreds of operations he was involved in when Overwatch was operating to its fullest extent.

The list of operations abruptly ended as she read the final note on Gérard's page. Gérard was killed in his sleep by unknown Talon operatives. His wife was kidnapped by Talon twice. She was more than likely deceased.

It was at this moment that Tracer felt her heart sink.

Tracer remembered Overwatch members glossing over the incident years ago, but in secrecy. Talking about what happened to the Lacroix couple had been some sort of taboo. Tracer had been new to Overwatch; she didn't think much of the "tall tale" at the time. The Lacroix family was dead. Tragic, but plain and simple.

Widowmaker didn't feel right. A calm tranquility overcame all of her senses, and she felt a warm irritation on her nose. She opened an eye and felt an awkward sensation of familiarity.

Widowmaker immediately sat up when she saw Lena across from her, sitting in an uncomfortable looking wooden chair. Lena looked like she hadn't had proper sleep in weeks.

"Morning, love. You've been out for one day."

"What happened?" was all Widowmaker could think to say.

"Um, well..." Tracer's voice trailed off. "Long story short, you got knocked out. The building blew up, but I managed to get us out safely before it did."

Widowmaker groaned and rubbed her head. "Where are we now?"

"You're at Watchpoint: Gibraltar."

"So it's true. Overwatch is operating on the down low."

There was no point in denying it. "Yeah, something like that. Amélie-"

"Please don't call me that," Widowmaker said, obviously uncomfortable with the name.

"Widow. Are you okay?"

Widowmaker knew what Tracer was referring to. "Risky maneuver on your part. You should have left me to die back there."

"Maybe. Maybe not. How do you feel? Does anything hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"You can tell me you're not okay. I'm not Talon, Amélie..."

"I'm not Amélie anymore. Amélie is _dead_."

Tracer decided not to press Widowmaker anymore. Widow was stressed enough as it was. "I just noticed that you have a minor laceration on your left wrist. Probably from that fucker. I'll get some medicine to help seal it up for you."

Widowmaker looked down at her wrist. Sure enough, a cut covered half the length of her wrist.

Tracer came back with the medicinal ointment and gently applied it on Widowmaker, who winced as the pain settled in.

"You're not looking much better," Widowmaker stated, reaching out for the ointment. She pressed the medicinal fluid on Tracer's cut lips, as if she were shushing the Brit. Tracer couldn't help but notice just how freezing her gentle touch was. Yet, it was soothing, in a weird way. Tracer looked into Widowmaker's eyes, which were focused on Lena's lip. Her eyes were an eerie golden yellow, with a tinge of brown.

"What?" Widow asked, noticing Tracer's stares.

"Erm- nothing. Just thinking."

Widowmaker shrugged and lied down on the bed once more. Tracer missed Widow's careful touch on her lips. She shook the thought away.

"If I leave you here alone, are you going to leave? Run back to Talon?"

Widowmaker sat in silence for a period of time. "If there were no survivors in the explosion, Talon will believe I'm dead. If that is the case, so be it."

The pair sat in silence, exchanging mutual glances of understanding.

Widowmaker adjusted herself in the bed, eventually sitting up entirely. "I'm fine, Tracer, really. I've been treated worse." Widowmaker remembered uncomfortable incidents from her past, but she shook them off. "It's just my fault for not complying-"

"Don't give me that excuse," Lena interrupted, getting upset. "What happened to you was not your fault. Never was. Never will be. Okay?"

Widowmaker was unaware that Tracer was referring to more than just the incident that played out in the facility.

"Okay?" Tracer repeated, much softer this time.

"Okay."

A sudden feeling of drowsiness dawned upon Tracer. "I'm gonna turn in for the night. I'll see you later." Tracer was tempted to stay awake all night, partly because she wasn't sure if she could trust Widow to not strangle her in her sleep. After all, she was still very much dangerous.

Widowmaker wouldn't kill her. Tracer just knew it.

Tracer's waist vibrated as she exited the room. Emily.

"Oh, now you want to talk to me. Only when it's convenient for you, I suppose," Lena said, unable to contain the bitterness in her voice.

Emily ignored her comment. "Lena, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Well, go on, Em. I haven't got all night." Tracer could hear Emily's heavy breathing.

"I want to be open with you, I really do. I just... I can't do this."

 _You deserve so much better._

"I'll keep this short. We are obviously going down different paths in our lives, and I just don't think I have time for a relationship right now. I hope you understand."

A bitter ball lodged in Tracer's throat. "You're not making any sense, Emily. You don't give up when things become overwhelming. What else is there to it?"

 _The truth would set you free._

"Listen, Lena, I can't- I cheated on you. I don't expect you to forgive me, and I'm a sorry piece of shit for doing that to you. You've always been honest with me, and I just can't keep hiding my unhappiness from you. You deserve so much better than me."

With that, Emily hung up. Tracer's heart shattered into a million tiny pieces. Things would be fine. She would be fine.

* * *

Amélie woke up in a familiar king sized bedroom, a blinding sunlight brightening her face. She knew that she was in her nightmare, and Gérard would come any second now.

Amélie quickly got up from bed and faced the direction Gérard would be coming from. Instead, Cain appeared in the doorway. Amélie backed up, only to hit a dimly lit lamp behind her. She turned around. She was no longer in her bedroom. There was a lone operating table, with a man lying facedown on it. Gérard.

Amélie rushed over to Gérard, who was unconscious. She frantically attempted to free him from his bonds, yet she couldn't.

"Leave him alone!" she screamed. "Prenez-moi, s'il vous plaît!"

Amélie blinked. Gérard was gone. She was lying on the operating table. She was tied to the table, unable to break free of her bonds. A blade tore through Amélie's back, and her bloodcurdling screams echoed in the vast room. She wasn't sure whether to faint or cry out. All she could feel was pure agony. It was so real.

Widowmaker woke up in a frenzy, wildly kicking off the sheets she situated herself in. She wasn't sure when she fell asleep. But, it was a mistake to do so.

Widowmaker looked outside and stared at the sun. Judging by its position, it was approximately eleven in the morning. Hm. She was usually an early riser.

Widowmaker got up from the comfort of the bed and went into the kitchen, where she heard a deafening cacophony. Someone was making food.

"Morning, love. Slept well?" Tracer asked, putting a cooking pan on a stove.

Widow opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it. She sat on a chair. "Sure."

Tracer cooked in an uncomfortable silence. Widowmaker had never been in a situation quite like this before. And she had been in many situations. Quite frankly, she was amused.

"Do you want a plate?" Tracer asked, looking over her shoulder.

A look of innocent curiosity flashed over Widowmaker's face for a brief second. "No thank you."

"You haven't eaten in at least a day. I'm sure you must be starving."

Widowmaker leaned over the table. "My metabolism allows me to go weeks without food or water. One day surely won't hurt me, non?"

Tracer pouted and opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it. She sat across from Widowmaker, stuffing a generous amount of pancake in her mouth. "You had another nightmare, didn't you?"

Widowmaker raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly would you know that?"

"It's pretty easy to tell by your facial expressions when you sleep. "

"You watched me when I slept?" Widowmaker asked. Tracer realized how creepy she sounded. She often caught herself watching Emily sleep at night, studying her peaceful expressions and admiring the way her eyelids fluttered when she was dreaming. It was different with Widowmaker. Lena studied the way she frowned when she slept, the way her forehead wrinkled, the way the subtle horror flashed across her face.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Lena asked.

"Non," Widow said, burying her face in her hands.

"Well, I'm here if you need anything." Lena looked fatigued, her eyes a tinge of red.

"You've been crying," Widowmaker commented, not beating around the bush. "Are you.. okay?" Widowmaker hadn't the slightest idea of how to comfort someone in distress.

"Oh. You noticed. I'm fine, love." She forced a weak smile.

"You're not fine. Dîtes-moi."

"Well..." Tracer glanced over at the photos perched on her windowsill, which she always kept at the watchpoint.

"This red haired girl in your photo. Is she the cause of your pain?" Widow asked.

"My ex girlfriend. We broke up recently due to long distance problems. Widow, I don't expect you to..."

"Understand?"

"No! I don't expect you to listen to me babbling on and on about my shattered love life."

"The people closest to you end up being the people that hurt you the most."

"I just... don't know how I feel. I don't think I can just move on and forget about her, ya know?"

"The best advice I offer is to not forget about her. Remember all the times you've had together, all the ups and downs you had with her. She'll always have a place in your heart, non? Don't waste your time forgetting the events and people that helped shape you." Widow paused briefly. She couldn't help but feel like somewhat of a walking hypocrite.

"I never knew you gave out relationship advice." Tracer gasped. "Oh my god, you and Reaper are a thing! I've seen the looks you've given each other, but I didn't think-"

"Non! Tuez-moi maintenant, ce serait préférable."

"I'm assuming that's a firm no." Tracer placed Widow's rifle bag in her lap. "Salvaged your bag."

Widowmaker widened her eyes. "Tracer!"

Widowmaker sifted through her belongings before taking out a familiar piece of equipment. "My tactical visor is equipped with a tracking device."

"Shit!" Tracer said. "I'll get rid of it. I'll-" Tracer looked at the date. "Shit!"

"What?"

"I'm supposed to meet with Wins- with the scientist that developed my chronal accelerator. Ya know, make sure it's working properly." An idea emerged in Tracer's head. "Just toss the tactical visor in the Mediterranean sea. Nobody will think twice of it, due to the location you supposedly died at."

Widow thought for a minute. "I suppose that'll have to do."

"Good. It's a plan, then." Tracer pushed a plate of toast in front of Widow. "And you're eating breakfast."

* * *

"I know of a place where we could get rid of your visor. It's within walking distance."

Tracer ushered Widowmaker out of the watchpoint without anyone noticing. Hardly anyone was there, and the security cameras had stopped surveying the area years ago. Lena and Widowmaker walked on slippery boulders until they came across a cliff overlooking the still waters of the Mediterranean Sea. The moon shone directly over the sea, brightening the view. It was still raining, and they were both beyond soaked. Widow and Tracer sat at the edge of the cliff, letting their feet loosely dangle.

"Wanna do the honors?" Tracer asked, already handing Widowmaker her visor. Widowmaker shuddered as she took the device away from Tracer.

"Are you cold?" Lena asked.

"No. Just thinking." Widowmaker sighed. "Is this supposed to signify the end of my time with Talon?"

"Didn't think about it that way," Tracer admitted, looking around her as if someone would walk in on them any minute.

Widowmaker stared at the jagged rocks underneath her. This was too much for her. How was she supposed to pretend that everything would be okay from here on out? "Wouldn't be such a bad idea to jump."

"Widow, I know how hard this must be for you. To be stripped away from all you've known so abruptly. But, I promise you that things will only get better from now on. I promise you that you have a purpose in this world beyond Talon. I promise you that I'll help you realize it."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

With that, Widow threw her visor deep into the torrential sea.

Tracer made sure the coast was clear before smuggling Widowmaker into the room.

"I have to go check up with Winston now. Sure you can take care of yourself?" Tracer asked.

"Mmhmm."

Tracer was surprised to find McCree in the lab with Winston, puffing his cigarette as usual.

"Lena," McCree said, letting out a sigh of relief. "Thought I'd run into you here. What happened back in Algeciras?"

"Ran into trouble with some soldiers. Took em out."

McCree blew smoke out of his nose. "That's my girl. Don't scare me like that ever again, okay?"

"I'll try my best, Jess."

"Did Morrison tell you the news?" McCree said, unable to keep a playful smirk off his face.

"What news?"

"The Petras Act was uplifted and we're getting refunded. The UN has finally had enough of the unrest occurring in London and other parts of Europe. After our little stunt in Algeciras, which will remain unknown to the public, protests erupted demanding that world leaders take action. The UN still is skeptical of us. I think only reason the Petras Act was uplifted is because they simply don't want a second Omnic Crisis to spread among us like the plague."

This was the best news Lena had heard all week. "Wow! Do you think the UN knows we've been operating illegally?"

"Too late to know for sure. Morrison's been reappointed strike commander. I've been appointed second in command. I don't think stating that he was alive was such a wise decision."

"Woah, Jesse! I just can't take in such big news in such short time. I know Winston activated the recall weeks ago. Is anyone answering?"

"We've reached out to everyone who has formally worked with Overwatch. Most are willing to come back. Most."

Lena thought about Angela, more commonly known by her callsign Mercy. Mercy had told Lena a while ago that she most likely wouldn't return to Overwatch if it were to reoperate. Lena desperately hoped Mercy would have a change of heart. "Do you know if Angie's returning?"

"She's scheduled to arrive here next week."

"Agent Oxton?" Commander Morrison said, sneaking up from behind the pair. "May I speak to you in private?"

That was a signal for McCree to nod his hat in Lena's general direction and silently slip out of the backroom.

"Please open this letter when you are securely back in London. It's for your next mission."

"Got it, Commander."

If there was one thing Widowmaker had, it was patience. She would wait silently for her prey to make one final mistake, one wrong move on their part. It was like a game of chess.

Widow had been sitting in a chair in the same position for hours. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Lena waddled through the doorway. "My chronal accelerator is functioning as expected. Have the whole day to ourselves before I smuggle you into England."

"England?"

"You can stay in my home until we can figure out what your entire, um, situation is. For now, your utmost priority is to keep a low profile."

"And smuggling me into England is keeping a low profile."

Widowmaker stepped into the bathroom and opened one of her bag compartments. Her prescribed pills.

Widowmaker counted her supply. Merde. She had a few weeks worth, at least. There was a stash of medication in her base of operations in Annecy, France. She would have to go retrieve them on the way back to London just to buy some time. Widowmaker had no clue as to whether or not she could live without the medication.

Widowmaker shuddered. It was an unsettling thought- and an uncertain death. Widowmaker didn't want to disclose this information with Tracer just yet. It would only worry her. Perhaps Widowmaker could go a few days without the medication and see what it would do to her body. Was that a stupid idea?

"I'm going on a slight detour," Widow said, causing Tracer to raise an eyebrow. "I have to stop by Annecy, France in order to gather a few belongings of mine."

"Annecy?"

"My base of operations is located there. It's an ancestral home that Talon knows of. If I were to go into hiding, that would be the first place they checked."

"Need me to come along?"

Widow remembered what Reaper had told her. There had been several members of Talon that had occupied the home without her permission. Was that a regular occurrence? If there were people still prodding around her base, she needed to get rid of them. It would be significantly easier to get rid of them if Tracer tagged along. Widow would just have to retrieve the medications without Lena noticing.

"There may be members of Talon at the base that we need to clear out. Just letting you know ahead of time. Also, I don't mind the company."

"Not to sound pessimistic or anything, but how are we supposed to smuggle you into Annecy, let alone London? I didn't really think this through." Traveling between countries was, bluntly put, a hard task.

"I'll have to sneak into France. At my chateau, I have a passport under the alias Danielle Guillard. Then we can travel via airplane to London."

"You're a bloody genius, Widow! You know that?"

"I try my best."

"Winston mentioned that there was a delivery hauler leaving for Barcelona, Spain. Maybe we can hitch a ride."

Tracer guided Widowmaker out of the room and snuck her on the hauler before the driver took note of their presence. Lena and Widow uncomfortably situated themselves between large boxes, which appeared to be carrying various supplies.

Tracer and Widow barely interacted with one another throughout the drive to Barcelona, apart from a few glances. Yet, it was a comfortable and easy silence.

Lena's mind tormented her with memories of Emily. Lena desperately clang onto Widow's advice. Embrace the memories. Don't feel angry that it ended, feel glad that it happened. Lena was beginning to feel at peace with herself.

"You're awful quiet," Lena finally remarked, her boredom reaching a new high.

"I don't have much to say."

"We've been in here for three hours. Eight more to go. How are you doing?"

"Confined in a hauler with a former enemy. Not entirely a bad time."

As Lena began to fall asleep, Widowmaker sat cross legged against the wall, making futile attempts to stay awake. Ever since her first meeting with Tracer, she hardly had a day where she slept peacefully. All her nightmares crept up on her, like a shadow creeping up on you in the darkness. She was not about to make a fool of herself again, especially in front of Tracer in a confined space.

Widowmaker stared at Lena's innocent face, her breaths shallow. Sleep was vulnerability in its finest form. Was it a wise decision on Lena's part to exhibit such a pure form of trust towards Widowmaker? If Widow was in Lena's shoes, she would bolt straight for the door. Yet, here Lena was, sleeping like a baby in front of an infamous assassin. Widow felt somewhat content with the fact that Lena trusted her to some extent.

Lena mumbled underneath her breath, before lazily opening her eyes.

"And I thought I was creepy," Lena said, startling Widowmaker.

"You still are," Widow said. "Can't sleep."

Tracer frowned. "Try to. We will be dropped off at a warehouse I'm familiar with," Tracer said, looking at the time. "I was thinking about staying in the warehouse and traveling in the nighttime in order to avoid confrontation. It's too risky to travel during the evening."

"There will be no need for nighttime travel. Why don't I just hide in plain sight?"

Tracer didn't know where Widow was going with that idea, but it didn't take long for her to figure it out. Tracer suppressed a laugh. "You carry makeup in your rifle bag?"

Widow smirked. "Someone has to look the part around here." Widowmaker always felt completely and utterly ridiculous when she applied the foundation to her skin, masking its unusual blue color. Tracer let Widow borrow a baggy coat that she had packed for the trip in order to conceal most of Widow's skin.

Tracer watched in awe as Widowmaker applied the makeup on her skin with quick and nimble precision. Even with large sunglasses and a pound of clothes on, anyone with eyes could tell that Widowmaker was beautiful.

The women felt the hauler slow down and the brakes engage. They got up from their position on the floor and opened the back latch, sneakily navigating through the warehouse.

Lena knew the area quite well. Now that Widow was "hiding in plain sight", Tracer knew exactly how they would get to Annecy.

"I have an old Air Force friend that can give us a ride to Annecy. Can't take us to England, though. He has special privileges when it comes to international travel, so we won't encounter customs."

"Hm. And you say I'm a genius."

"Is that a subtle compliment from you I hear?!"

"You wish."

* * *

"Billy!" Tracer exclaimed, leaping into the man's arms. "How long has it been? A year?"

"More! It's so great to see you, Lena! Oh, where are my manners? Never introduced myself to your friend. I'm Billy." Billy held out his hand for Widowmaker to shake. Widow stared at his hand for a period of time before reluctantly shaking it. Billy didn't seem to notice.

"I'll be glad to help you two get to Annecy. It's for an Overwatch operation, correct?"

"Mmhmm," Tracer said. "It's crucial that you don't discuss this with anyone. Danielle and I are on our first mission. Ya know, Overwatch needs experienced pilots. You should consider working with us."

"I'll look into it, Lena!"

Widow and Lena crammed into the back of the aircraft, each woman staring out the lone window.

"Is it safe to land here?" Billy asked, looking over the address Widowmaker gave him. They were above water.

"Yes," Widow said. "There is a clearing across the water over there."

"Thanks again, Billy! I'll recommend you directly to Commander Morrison should you still want that position in Overwatch!" Tracer enthusiastically stated.

As nighttime approached and the plane left, the chateau stood out against the purple sky. Tracer's jaw dropped. "That's your base of operations?"

The women did a clean sweep of the entire chateau before determining the home was clear. Tracer could tell that the crumbling ancestral home was beyond magnificent in its glory days. Tracer could also tell that Widowmaker had been renovating it. Dusty piles of wood and paint cans cluttered the living space. The next thing Tracer noticed was the coat of arms.

"Guillard? That's the last name you have for your alias."

"It is my maiden name," Widowmaker said, walking downstairs towards her wine cellar.

"You drink?"

"Occasionally."

"That's what they all say."

Widowmaker flashed her rare smile in Lena's direction. "I'm tempted to wipe off this makeup. I look like an idiot."

"You don't look like an idiot. You look... you look... erm," Tracer began.

"Thanks."

"Well, I'm sorry! I don't know how to say you look like a total babe without it rubbing off the wrong way."

Widowmaker stared incredulously at Lena, making Lena wish she would just die on the spot. "A babe?"

"You know what, forget I said anything."

Widowmaker was thoroughly amused. "Oh, you know you won't live this one down," she said, her prominent French accent allowing the words to roll off her tongue like fine wine. Tracer felt relief. Widow took it as a playful comment.

Lena explored the dining room while Widow stuffed various items in her bag. A little black widow weaved its web in the corner of the dining room window.

"Met my little friend?" Widow said, coming up from behind Lena.

"I love spiders," Tracer remarked. "They're beautiful creatures. Hard workers, too. I can't imagine how it must feel to make one of the most intricate natural creations, only for some human to step in it."

Widowmaker held out her palm for the spider. Lena watched in awe as the black widow crawled all over her hands, before Widowmaker put it back on its web.

"It's getting late. When did you say our departure was?" Widow asked, her tone changing.

"Soon. We gotta get going."

Widowmaker was hoping to stay longer at her chateau. It would be ideal to remain there and live happily ever after in the ancestral home. If only things could be simple. It was too risky to stay there, especially now that Reaper disclosed information regarding unsolicited visitors.

The airlines were strict when it came to international travel. Widow just relied on hope when it came to the security check.

"Danielle Guillard?" the man behind the security counter said, pronouncing her last name terribly.

"That would be me," Widow said, placing a bag on top of the conveyor belt.

"State your business for traveling."

"Accompanying my friend here on a business trip."

"Why? She can't take care of herself?" the man snidely remarked.

"Oh, I'm sure she can. It's just more pleasurable for all of us if I take care of some of her... sexual matters," Widowmaker purred, causing the man to shift in his seat uncomfortably. Tracer opened her mouth in surprise.

"Um, okay. Please step in line for the security check."

Widowmaker had a special way of dealing with metal detectors. Her gadgets were equipped with an anti PI system, rendering metal detectors useless.

"You're all set," the man said.

After the encounter, Tracer couldn't hold back the giggles. "What the hell was that back there?"

"A tactic. Make them uncomfortable and they won't press you for anymore information."

"Well, what a fucking tactic."

Luckily for Tracer, she lived within walking distance of the airport. But, more urgently, she was hungry.

"Where are we going?" Widow finally asked, walking behind Tracer down a narrow sidewalk. The amount of people walking on the streets made Widow have slight anxiety.

"Hope you're not vegetarian, love," Tracer answered, casually walking into a hamburger joint.

Widow stood outside the diner for several seconds, contemplating whether or not she should follow Lena in. Lena went back outside and clutched onto Widow's hand, before dragging her into the joint.

Widow sat across from Lena, taking in the American-like atmosphere.

"When was the last time you've been in a restaurant?" Lena asked.

"Not long ago. In Monaco, actually."

"Oh."

"It was actually a bar."

"Wow. How the hell did that go?"

"Let's just say that I've never been more tempted to kill someone in my life."

Lena snorted. A waiter appeared before the couple.

"Hola, señoras. May I get you started with drinks?" he asked, his Spanish accent shining through his speech.

"Actually, I think we're ready to order," Lena said, looking at Widow.

"May I get black coffee, s'il vous plaît?" Widow asked.

"Will that be all for you?"

"Yes."

"You're from France? I always recognize the euphonic language of love," the waiter said, smiling flirtatiously at Widow.

Lena wanted to cover her eyes. This could not end well.

"May I get two chocolate milkshakes and the number 3?" Lena persistently asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

After the waiter left, Tracer desperately wanted to change the subject. "One of the milkshakes is for you."

"I'm not drinking it."

"Come on, when was the last time you had a milkshake?!"

"Never, actually. I think."

"Oh god. I didn't realize how urgent this milkshake mission was! Now you've got to try it!"

"Fine," Widow said, giving into Lena's persistent demands.

Tracer smiled. "So. Have you been conjuring up a plan? I don't suppose you wanna stay in England with me your whole life."

"I don't know where to go. What to do."

"Did I tell you that Overwatch is reoperating?"

"What? Impossible."

"The Petra's Act was uplifted this morning."

"Hm. So the UN finally had the balls to do it. Let's hope things run smoothly for your organization this time."

"We could use some more recruits." Lena widened her eyes. "People with a specific set of skills. People like... like you."

Widow snorted. "Me? An Overwatch agent? How amusing."

As soon as the food and beverages arrived, Lena looked over at Widow, waiting for her to try the sacred drink. Widow slowly placed the straw betwixt her slender fingers and drank the shake.

"Well?" Tracer asked.

"It's okay."

"Just okay?"

"Fine. I'll admit, it's a lot better than I thought it would be."

"Mission accomplished! The girl approves!"

Widowmaker laughed, before taking another sip of the milkshake. "What now?"

"Now we can relax!"

Tracer practically collapsed when she arrived at her home. Widowmaker was tired, yet she refrained from resting. She was scared of sleeping, scared her nightmares would reveal things that would be better off forgotten.

Lena crashed on the couch, snoring soundly in her comfortable position.

The more Widow thought about it, the more she grew to love the person Lena was. She could never thank Tracer enough for her generosity, her never ending kindness, her playful banter. From the very beginning, they were like a dance of fire and ice. Completely different, yet able to move with precision in their deadly dance, able to understand one another's flow of movement. In that sense, Tracer had been a completely different opponent.

"This is the second time you've refused to sleep," Lena murmured, interrupting Widow's train of thought. "You don't want to have another nightmare."

Widow nodded.

"Try to get some rest. This is unhealthy, even for you."

"I just..." Widow started to say, her voice trailing off.

Tracer waited patiently for her to finish her sentence. She never did.

"When I used to have night terrors, my grandmother always put a drop of lavender oil on my pillow. Relieves anxiety. Wanna try that?" Tracer asked.

Widow nodded, before a sudden yawn escaped her mouth. Lena found it terribly adorable. In fact, Tracer found a lot of Widow's little quirks "cute". Her nail biting, her lip biting, her playful little smirks.

Lena placed two drops of lavender oil on Widow's pillow and placed the remaining oil on the bedside table.

"I'm sorry," Widow apologized. "For making you do this at 4 in the morning."

"No need to be sorry, love. I just hope I can help."

"Lena?"

"Hm?"

"I... I really appreciate the things you've done for me," Widow said in all sincerity. "I'm usually not the tender type. But, I just wanted to get that out there."

Lena nodded and beamed a smile. "No problem, love. Rest nicely, okay?"

 **Prenez-moi, s'il vous plaît.** **Take me, please.**

 **Dîtes-moi. Tell me.**

 **Non! Tuez-moi maintenant, ce serait préférable. No! I would rather you just kill me now.**


	8. Chapter 8- Free

**Finals week just about drained the life out of me, both literally and figuratively. Send help.**

Widow didn't have a nightmare that night. She awoke early, silently sitting up on the bed. She walked past Lena's room, only to discover that Lena was grumbling underneath her breath. Widow entered the room and sat on the bed.

"Hm?" Lena said, clutching onto her pillow.

"Lena? Are you awake?" Widow softly whispered.

Lena's eyes flew open. Genuine confusion was written on her face, but only for a split second. Once she realized that Widow was in the room with her, Lena automatically relaxed. "Widow? What are you doing?"

"Checking up on you. I can leave if you want."

"No, you can stay here. I'd prefer it, actually." Tracer sighed.

"What's on your mind?" Widow asked.

"I just... feel like I'm stuck in some twisted dream. After breaking up with Emily, I didn't know if I was gonna be able to move forward. Love again. Yet, I find that I'm not as upset about the breakup as I thought I would be. I kinda feel... relief. She'd been distant for a while now, so I guess I prepared myself for the worst without ever realizing it." Tracer paused, allowing her own words to sink in. "What's on your mind?" Lena asked. Tracer didn't expect a response.

It took all of Widow's willpower to say it. "This was the first night I didn't have a dream about my husband."

Tracer knew that she'd be treading on thin ice should she bring up what she knew of the incident. She let Widow decide what she wanted to reveal to Lena.

It was as if some sort of safe haven had been established when they revealed their thoughts in that very moment. They silently took in each other's intoxicating scent, the warmth radiating from their bodies, the pace of their breathing.

With every passing moment, Lena's little crush on Widow grew stronger.

Lena sat upright on her bed with Morrison's letter, carefully opening up its contents. She had been too fatigued to read it immediately upon arriving home.

 _Agent Oxton,_

 _Thank you for showing interest in Overwatch once more. As an experienced field agent, you are expected to operate permanently at Watchpoint: Gibraltar by the attached due date._

 _Special instructions: Former influential members of Overwatch (that includes you, Oxton!) are invited to a masquerade ball held by U.N. Secretary General Samael Gallegos. You are allowed to bring one guest. The date and dress code is attached to this letter. You will be picked up from your home at approx 4 pm the day of the event._

 _The mission: I am under the suspicion that Gallegos is affiliated with Talon. I need you to enter his personal office and download a file, possibly labeled "Operation Free", from his computer. I have attached a hard drive to this note. Please do this discretely. You do not have permission to disclose the mission information to anyone._

 _Respectfully,_

 _Commander Jack Morrison_

Tracer's stomach dropped at the first paragraph. She wouldn't operate in London this time. How would she deal with Widowmaker's predicament?

Tracer checked the time and date on the invitation. Then, it hit her like a speeding train.

"Oh, shit!" Lena exclaimed, sitting up.

"What is it?" Widow pressed, slightly annoyed that there was an interruption.

"I'm going to a masquerade ball in two hours! What am I gonna wear? What the hell are you going to wear?"

"Wait, what?"

"I'm allowed a date. Or a guest."

"Oh, no," Widow exclaimed, holding up her hands defensively. "I can handle being dragged into a restaurant. But a party?"

"I'm on a confidential mission. And I think I may need your help."

"What's your mission?"

Lena handed her the confidential letter, knowing full well that she shouldn't discuss the information with anyone.

"Is he affiliated with Talon?" Tracer asked, wanting confirmation.

"I don't know," Widow admitted. "There are many UN members affiliated with Talon."

"Can you download the information off his computer while I keep a lookout and possibly provide a distraction?" Tracer asked.

"Oui, oui." Widow felt somewhat obligated to help Tracer with her mission after everything Tracer did for her. But, more importantly, Widowmaker was programmed to miss the hunt, the thrill of the mission, the excitement of the chase. She needed this. "Finally, some action."

* * *

"What's the point in wearing that much face makeup if we're gonna be in masquerade masks?" Lena asked.

Widowmaker didn't answer her, particularly because she knew Lena was right.

Lena was already dressed in a black tuxedo, equipped with a stylish white bow tie.

Widowmaker didn't bring much clothing, but she did have dressy attire that was too expensive for her to just leave. Widowmaker stepped out of the guest room in a tight strapless black dress. Her hair was done in a nice, formal updo. Lena's mouth immediately dropped.

"Too revealing?" Widow asked, pulling up the dress from the front.

"You-" Lena began, mouth still agape.

Widow felt embarrassed that she was the subject of such admiration. She cleared her throat. "Do you have the masks?"

"Got em right here."

After Widow secured her velvety black mask on her face and hid an earpiece in her ear, she inserted her seldomly used green colored contacts, as the mask brought out her unusual eye color.

"I have something that matches your dress," Tracer said, running into her room and retrieving the item.

"Are you sure I can borrow it?" Widow asked, twirling the diamond encrusted necklace with her fingertips.

"Here. I'll even put it on for you."

Lena and Widow were surprised to find that an actual limousine awaited them. They glanced at one another, before shrugging and hopping into the vehicle.

"Miss Oxton," the driver greeted, opening the door for the women.

"What the hell did I agree to?" Widowmaker murmured.

"Should we have some alcohol before we embark on this mission?" Lena asked, already sipping on a glass of red wine.

"Tempting," Widow said, before swiftly swiping the glass from Lena's hand. "But, we need to be completely sober." Widow then took a sizable sip from the wine glass. Lena opened her mouth in surprise.

"Madams. We have arrived," the limo driver announced, opening the door for them to get out.

The first thing the women noticed was the glorious mansion constructed of marble. The enormous parking lot was crowded, each person sporting different masquerade gowns and masks.

Widow excused herself to the restroom. As soon as Lena entered the dining hall, she was greeted by a familiar, yet distant, face.

"Angela Ziegler? Oh my god!" Lena squealed, unable to contain the excitement in her voice.

"Lena! It's so great to see your face again."

"Never in a million years did I think you'd rejoin Overwatch!"

"I realize that I would make more of a difference in the lives of other people should I head the medical team once more. I've learned to separate my sentiments from my work." Mercy took a sip of wine. "Where's Emily? I expect you brought her as a guest?"

Lena scratched her neck. "Oh, her? We've moved our separate ways. It's, um, complicated."

"Care to tell me more?" Lena couldn't hide secrets from Mercy. At least, not most of them.

"She cheated on me. At least I didn't have to find out the hard way. She was real honest about it."

Mercy was in shock. Who would do that to Lena, of all people? "I'm so sorry to hear that, Lena. The people you love are the people that hurt you the most. You'll find someone better, I can guarantee it."

"I did find someone better," Lena blurted, regretting it almost immediately.

"Really? Tell me all about her!"

"Well... she's the most beautiful woman I've ever met. It sounds inauthentic and cheesy, but I've never met someone so... exotic and wonderful and unique."

"Aw, Lena! What's her name?"

Shit! "Her name? Uh- Danielle."

"Danielle. She sounds lovely, Lena."

Tracer laughed nervously. Low and behold, "Danielle" herself emerged from the crowd, positioning herself next to Lena.

"Lena?" Widowmaker said.

Mercy had to do a double take. Danielle was completely and utterly gorgeous... and different from Lena's usual taste in women.

Lena wanted to scream. Then again, she did put herself in this position. "Danielle! Um, I'd like you to meet a great friend of mine. Angela Ziegler."

"Mercy," Widow said. "I know who you are."

Angela grinned. "Danielle. It's so lovely to meet you." She turned to face Lena, who was beet red. "I can't wait to get to know your girlfriend better."

Before Widowmaker could ask Ziegler to repeat what she just said, Angela stated, "Well, I'll leave you two alone. Have a wonderful time!"

"Thanks, luv!" Lena exclaimed, quickly pulling Widow towards the opposite direction.

"What did she say?" Widow asked.

"Hold on! That's him!" Lena urgently whispered, subtly pointing to a handsomely tall man with slim black hair and brown eyes. "Gallegos."

"Is he coming over here?"

"Shit, he is!"

"Lena Oxton!" the man's deep voice bellowed. "You're certainly the accomplished field agent. Thank you for making it tonight." Gallegos made eye contact with Widowmaker while shaking Lena's hand. Widow eyed the man. She couldn't help but feel like she had encountered him before. He carried a wave of familiarity, a unique air about him that was blatantly unmistakable.

"And who might this lovely lady be?" he asked.

"Danielle," Widow said, forcing a smile.

"Danielle. Pleasure meeting you," he said, kissing Widow's hand. She desperately hoped her makeup wouldn't wipe off.

"Excuse me, ladies," Gallegos said, wandering off into the crowd of partygoers.

"Alright, Widow. Let's look for his office."

They slipped into an uncrowded corridor, rapidly trudging up the stairs. It wasn't long before they found it.

"Locked. " Lena said. "Need a four digit passcode to open the door."

Other invitees noticed the women hanging around the private office, so they went back into the dining hall to avoid confrontation.

"Breaking down the door is a daunting task," Widow analyzed. "I can unlock the bedroom door next to the office and break the wall. It would be noticeable, though."

Gallegos glanced over at the women, forcing them to stop talking. They heard Gallegos excuse himself from a table crowded with men.

"Ladies," he nodded. "May I borrow you, Danielle?"

Widow gave Lena _the_ _look_ , before reluctantly joining Gallegos' table.

Gallegos introduced Widow to the table, before inviting her to a game of blackjack.

"Merci, but I'll pass."

"Play a few rounds. Let's see how lucky you are."

Tracer wandered around the dining hall, looking for a specific commander. After she spotted Morrison sitting alone at the bar, she slipped in the chair next to him.

"Morrison!" Tracer exclaimed, "I don't know how to get into Gallegos' office without breaking anything!"

"Didn't think this part would be easy," Morrison said. "Let's head over to the office in a little bit. See if we can reset the passcode."

Every man sitting at the table stared at Widow in disbelief.

"You... beat the house," One of the older men said, clutching onto his water tightly. "You just earned yourself fifty thousand American dollars."

Widow smirked, deeply satisfied with the result. "Luck? I only know strategy."

Gallegos was thoroughly amused with Widowmaker. "If you excuse us, gentlemen," he said, helping Widow out of her chair.

Gallegos went over to the musicians hired for the event, whispering something. The hall was filled with people, yet there was plenty of space. Which Widow did not like one bit. She could sense the question before Gallegos could even utter it.

"May I have this dance?" Gallegos asked, already beginning to move to the rhythm of the music.

"I don't dance," Widow declined.

"Why do I get the feeling that is simply not true?" Yet, Gallegos didn't press Widow any further.

Widow looked for any excuse to leave. "If you excuse me-"

"Are you not enjoying my company?"

"I am, I just need a drink."

"I have magnificent wine stored in my office that I didn't bring out for the party. Why don't I take you there so we can share some, Danielle?"

You could practically feel Widow's heart beat out of her chest. "Why not?"

Gallegos laughed, before slipping his arm around Widowmaker's waist.

"Lena!" Widow faintly whispered under the sound of the music pumping through the hall. Understandably, Widow received no answer from the earpiece.

Gallegos covered the keypad with his hands before opening the door, allowing Widow to step into the spacious office. She had two goals: get the information and get the hell out.

"I'll be real honest with you," Gallegos stated, opening up a wine cabinet. "I've never met a woman like you."

Widow casually slipped the hard drive Lena gave her into his personal computer, making it look like she was just leaning back against his desk.

"I've met men like you," Widow said, setting the wine glass down. Their faces were practically touching. "And they all want the same thing."

Gallegos glanced over at his office desk where the computer sat. Widow quickly pulled his tie towards her, keeping his eyes where she wanted them to be.

"Tell me the truth. What are you doing here, Widowmaker?" Gallegos asked, clutching onto her waist.

Widow took a sip of wine, before placing her tender hands on his face. "Talon sends their regards."

With that, she elbowed his face and tripped him in one swift maneuver. Gallegos had little time to react as Widow straddled the man, choking him with his own tie.

When Widow was certain that Gallegos was knocked out cold, she went over to the computer to access the rest of the man's files.

Widow heard the doorknob jitter. She automatically assumed it was Tracer.

When she crack opened the door, she discovered to her horror that Lena was not alone.

Widow, Lena, and Soldier 76 awkwardly stood a few feet apart from one another.

Not knowing what to do, Widow slammed the door, grabbed the flash drive, and bolted out of there. She handed the flash drive to Lena without Morrison noticing the little slip.

"What the hell?" Morrison said as he began to run after Widow. To his surprise, she already disappeared in the crowd of people downstairs.

Lena grabbed onto his arm. "No time to chase her, we need to get the information off his computer now!"

"Do you know who that was?" Morrison questioned.

"Nope. Extracting the file right now."

Morrison kneeled down next to Gallegos and felt a faint pulse. "That woman knew what she was doing. Knocked him out cold. I need to find out who sent her."

Tracer handed Soldier 76 the flash drive. "We have the information necessary to press charges against Gallegos. Let's get the hell out of here," he said. The pair left the room, leaving Gallegos on the floor.

Widow bumped into many guests, not knowing exactly which way to go. She finally reached the limousine and entered the vehicle. Stay calm.

"Lena?" Widow calmly whispered, pressing down on the earpiece.

"I'm coming!"

Widow felt an overwhelming sensation of relief as Tracer approached the vehicle.

"Would you like me to take you back to your home, Miss Oxton?"

"Yes, yes please. Thank you." Lena was out of breath.

Once the driver gave the women privacy, Lena said, "So much for a covert mission. What the hell happened back there?"

Widow grabbed the bottle of wine and drank directly from it. "He knew who I was. I had to do something."

"When he wakes up, he's gonna believe Talon is double crossing him," Lena concluded. "Talon may have just lost a valuable asset to their team. Maybe your interference was a good thing."

Widow looked out the tinted windows, the mansion getting smaller and more distant by the second. "Maybe."

* * *

Widowmaker woke up from a surprisingly well slumber, only to find a note left at the bedside table.

 _"Went to run some errands. Didn't want to wake you."_

Widowmaker got up from the bed and walked into Lena's living room, eyeing its contents. She ran her fingers over Lena's vintage CD collection. She knew she shouldn't be snooping around Tracer's belongings. But, the contents of one particular CD caught Widow's eye.

Tchaikovsky. Widowmaker winced as a sharp pain jabbed her forehead.

Surely it wouldn't hurt to play it?

She located the CD player and placed the disk in, waiting for the music to play. Although it had been years, she immediately recognized the music.

An image of a young Amélie performing Swan Lake flashed before Widow's eyes. She had been Odette and Odile. They were two roles that needed to be nailed to perfection, reserved for only the most prestigious ballerinas. She remembered the jittery nerves, the pace and rhythm of her movements, the encore, the music pulsing through her veins. She had one of the best performances of her career.

Did she even remember how to dance? She wondered.

Widow looked in all directions of the room, as if she were waiting for someone to interrupt her. She proceeded to point her legs in fifth position, before rising to full pointe.

It had been years since she danced, yet Amélie still got it. It was simply instinctive to her. Amélie slowly, but surely, adjusted to the pace of the song and executed her ballet with cutting precision, allowing herself to relax and let go. She closed her eyes. Concentrate. Elegance with execution.

"Since when did you dance?" a familiar voice across the hallway asked, causing Amélie to jump. She immediately made an attempt to turn off the CD player, clumsily unplugging the device. Of course, it was too late. Tracer had already seen the show.

Lena had a wide, stupid grin plastered on her face as she leaned against the wall.

"How long have you been standing there?" Widow demanded.

"Long enough."

"Merde," Widowmaker said under her breath. "Do me a favor and don't ever do that again."

"You dance like a bird."

Widowmaker blinked. "Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"No, silly! You dance like a bird because you dance like you're free."

Lena took several steps towards Widowmaker, before poorly imitating her movements.

If it was even possible, Widowmaker's cheeks turned a deep shade of red. "Stop it. You look stupid."

Tracer held out her hand, bowing.

"Lady Lacroix, may I have this dance?"

Widow covered her face with her hands.

"Aw, you're embarrassed!" Tracer found the whole situation terribly cute.

"Shut up," Widowmaker snapped, somehow unable to come up with any appropriate insults.

Tracer giggled profusely, before picking up several grocery bags and setting them on the kitchen counter.

"But seriously, where'd you learn to dance?"

"Well..." Widowmaker's voice trailed off slightly. "Before Talon, I used to be an exotic pole dancer."

Tracer stopped in her tracks. She was completely dumbfounded, unsure how to respond.

"That's kind of hot."

"I was joking."

It was Lena's turn to be red.

"Aw, you're embarrassed!" Widowmaker said whilst imitating Lena's voice, complete with a surprisingly well British accent.

"Oh, ha ha."

"I used to be a ballet dancer."

"I could tell by the fluidity of your movements that you've been dancing for a while. I could never be a dancer. Too jittery."

"And you lack coordination, self discipline, elegance-"

"Wow. You're one for shit talking."

Amélie flashed her signature smile in Lena's direction. Wow. Lena would go to the ends of the earth for that damn smile.

"We need to talk," Tracer said in all seriousness.

"Hm?"

"I'm going back to Gibraltar. I'm moving there permanently for my job."

Widow noticed the problem right away. "Soo... I'm staying here?"

"What do you want?"

The truth was, Widow hadn't even thought about what she was going to do now that she was free from Talon. With Talon, she always had a sense of direction, a sense of purpose. What was her meaning in life now?

"I don't know what I want," Amélie admitted.

"We have some time to come up with a plan. If you have an idea of what you want to do moving forward, lemme know."

Widow was starting to get tired. Where would she go? How would she get there? Who would she be? It was overwhelming not knowing what awaited her in the future. She was caught in the midst of a vast internal struggle with little possibility that her torment would end anytime soon. She needed to get her mind off of herself before she exploded.

"How are you doing?" Widow asked.

"I'm fine. Stressed about the move, that's all."

"Bien, bien. Need help putting the groceries away?"

"Um, sure? The spices go in the cabinet above the sink."

The pair spent most of the morning talking. Just talking. Lena talked about her experiences in the Air Force, as well as humorous incidents that occurred during her life as an adventurer. Widow mostly sat back and listened. She learned a lot about Tracer. Lena didn't glorify her heroic experiences, nor did she glorify herself. Widow was beginning to realize that Lena was actually a very down to earth individual, humbled by her life experiences.

"We had a rookie run into the wall while running away from the police on one of our missions," Widowmaker snorted. "This was at a hotel, mind you. He knocked himself out. I made an agent hold an ice pack to his head for ten minutes. We ended up missing our ride and having to call backup to come pick us up in a janitor's closet. Not a very proud Talon moment."

Lena laughed in amusement. Widowmaker lied on her stomach. Her back tattoo shone as bright as day against her glossy skin.

"What's the story behind the spider tattoo?" Tracer asked, tracing her fingers over the ink.

"My back tattoo was forced upon me as soon as I received the call sign Widowmaker. I was told that it was to recognize my body if I die in combat. I, however, believe that it's just some claim on me." Widowmaker looked down. "I remember the day I received the tattoo. It was during my early years of mental reprogramming. I just spread myself out on a metal table and waited for the pain to arrive, for the pain to be over. I didn't object, didn't flinch, didn't cry. I just lied there and took it."

"Wow," Tracer said. "I just can't understand how something so beautiful could have such a horrible meaning, ya know?"

"I like it now. Covers my scars."

"Scars?"

"I have many... physical alterations to my body. Some of them aren't so pleasant."

"How well do you remember life before Talon?"

"I retain bits and memories." Widowmaker sighed. "I faintly remember the first time I was kidnapped by Talon."

"Do you want to talk about it? Only if you're comfortable with it, love."

"I don't know."

"That's perfectly okay. Just let me know when you want to talk about anything," Tracer smiled, holding Widow's frigid hands. "You can trust me."

"I've been meaning to ask. Why are you helping me? Why did you save me back in Algeciras?"

Tracer sat in thought for a moment. "I couldn't just leave you there to die with those people. Anyone who's an enemy of Talon is a friend of mine. You are so much more than Talon, Widow. I want you to realize that."

Widow sat in silence, pondering for a long time. She stared blankly at Tracer. "It's funny how the day of my kidnapping turned out. I had planned to tell Gér- my husband-"

Widowmaker stopped talking. Widow looked down, placing a hand over her toned stomach. Tracer waited patiently for Widowmaker to continue.

"I had planned to tell my husband that I was pregnant with our first child later on that day."

Tracer bit her tongue hard, allowing the metallic taste of blood to fill her dry mouth.

Widowmaker didn't think that it would be hard to mention that specific detail. Widowmaker, even Amélie, had never been too fond of children. Yet, the event proved to her how much she truly lost, how different her life would have ended up had it never occurred.

"Everything else from that day is a distant blur. I remember hooded figures appearing in my kitchen and restraining me, bleak lights, a sharp pain in my arm. The rest is history."

Tracer was absolutely speechless. Widow said it so nonchalantly, as if they were talking about the weather. And for the first time in a while, Widow felt absolutely nothing.

"I'm so sorry," Tracer whispered. A booming crackle in the sky signaled a storm rolling in.

"If you excuse me," Widow said, running off into the guest room.

Tracer understood. Widow just needed time.

* * *

A sudden stillness in the air lingered. Something was missing from Lena's home, and she knew it. Tracer went to check on Widow, only to discover that she was not in the guest bedroom. Frowning, Lena checked the entire home.

Where the hell was she?

"Widow?" Lena shouted. She clutched onto her night coat and draped a scarf over her shoulders.

Lena went downstairs into the vacant apartment complex lounge. The lights were shut off. The eerie silence was so sickening and so deafening that it would drive anybody insane over an extended period of time.

"Widow?" Lena urgently whispered. Then, Lena heard a faint cracking sound coming from the boxing gym, located a few meters away from the apartment lounge.

Lena heaved a sigh of relief as she entered the gym. Widow was furiously giving her all to a punching bag. She executed her deadly combos with almost as much precision as her dance, tame and controlled.

Widow heard someone creep up behind her, and she stopped her flow of movement temporarily. Realizing it was Lena, she hastily went back to punching.

"How'd you get in here without a key?" Lena asked.

No response. Every once in a while, Widow would draw out a long and tired breath.

"How long have you been doing this?" Lena questioned.

"The entire night."

"Someone could have seen you! Oh, never mind that. It's getting late. Let's get out of here and go back home, okay?"

"You're speaking as if I have a home. And then what? Decide where I'm going to go? What I'm going to do? It's useless."

Widow kicked the punching bag hard, causing the chain that held it up to break. "I'm trapped, Lena. There's no future for people like me. You said I have some purpose in life. What if my purpose in life is serving Talon?"

Talon. This was all their fault. Everything. The more Widowmaker thought about it, the angrier she grew.

"I know that isn't true," Lena said softly, clutching onto Widow's hands. Widow fearlessly stared back into Lena's eyes. Yet, Lena could see right through her. "Let's go back to sleep and discuss this in the morning, okay? Come on."

Widow suddenly felt fatigued. She stood up straight, emotionless and cold. Her emotions were everywhere, yet they were nowhere. She had never felt quite like this before.

But, she knew exactly what she wanted. How she would get it was yet to be determined.

Revenge.

* * *

The seething man threw his phone across the room whilst holding an ice pack over the side of his head. Gallegos thought he had the upper hand when he asked Widowmaker why she was at the masquerade ball. And he certainly did not expect the outcome that occurred. Widowmaker made the grave mistake of keeping him alive. All he knew was that nobody double crossed him. Nobody.

There would be hell to pay for Talon.

* * *

Widowmaker was sucked into dreamland once more. She was consumed in a darkness. Unlike her previous dreams, there were no emotions associated with her surroundings. Spotlights shone on women across from her. Three Amélie's. They were in a regular tutu and wearing her signature black ballet slippers. All three dancers danced circles around Widowmaker in perfect unison, before suddenly disappearing. A single spotlight now shone on Widow. A sudden familiar feeling of drowsiness dawned upon Widowmaker. She remembered the emptiness from when she first joined Talon. Widowmaker embraced the familiar emptiness, let it fill her head. Oh, how she missed not giving a single care in the world. How easy her life was. How painless it used to be. Nothing mattered, except the objective. Nobody mattered, except herself.

Tracer. Tracer will always be an enemy to Talon, an enemy to Widowmaker. All enemies of Talon need to be eliminated.

No. To hell with Talon. Lena had been nothing but a force of goodness in Widowmaker's life. Her smile. Her laugh. The only smile and laugh Widowmaker could tolerate. A bright light blinded Widowmaker.

"Widow?" Tracer whispered urgently.

"The enemies of Talon will be eliminated. _Nous nous félicitons des progrès constants qui ont été réalisés."_

Widowmaker woke up. She was on top of Lena, her arms wrapped around Lena's throat in a loose choke. Lena stared up at her in horror.

Widow screamed. She immediately attempted to get off of Lena, but Lena held Widowmaker firmly in place.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry!"

Tracer calmly sat up. Widowmaker attempted to kill Lena in her sleep. But, now was not the time to panic. "You stopped yourself. I'm here now. You're here now. Nothing's going to change that, okay?" Lena said.

Widowmaker wrapped her arms around Tracer's body and rested her head on Lena's shoulder.

Amélie ran her fingers through Tracer's unruly hair. All she could think about was how safe she felt in Lena's arms. A moment of hesitation flashed across her eyes, before she leaned in and kissed Lena.

Widowmaker felt indescribable. Something she had long forgotten had woken up deep inside her.

Widowmaker tasted exotically sweet to Lena. Tracer, of course, was taken aback, but she soon felt comfortable in Widow's touch. Lena opened her mouth in order for Amélie to gain entrance, letting their tongues dance softly against one another. The kiss got deeper and hungrier, each woman attempting to assert dominance.

The interaction lasted no more than a minute. Widowmaker pulled back, not believing what had just happened.

The two women were panting quietly. Tracer was the one who broke the silence. "Wow."

"I'm so sorry," Widowmaker repeated, her eyes watering up. She screwed up. She should have never even attempted to-

Lena locked lips with her one more time. Widow rolled off to the side, perfecting lying down next to Lena. Lena held Widowmaker close to her, not daring to let go.

"No need to be sorry."

All of Widow's thoughts were vocalized. "Are you serious? I could have killed you. I would never hurt you on purpose. Please tell me you know that. Please, let me go. I'm dangerous."

Widowmaker pulled out of Lena's safe arms and ran out of the apartment faster than the speed of light, not caring if anyone saw her. Tracer ran after her in her pajamas, her bare feet tapping against the steady pavement. The rain started to fall harder, heavier. Widowmaker was fast, but Tracer was faster.

"Why? Why are you so kind to me? After everything!" Widow yelled. A moment of false realization occurred for her. "If there's one thing I don't need, it's your sympathy. Are you treating me this way because you feel sorry for me?"

Tracer sighed. "I do feel horrible for what happened to you all those years ago. And I'm sorry. But, I realize now that this entire time, I've been falling in love with you. Your smile, your personality, your faults, your strengths, you. I've been too afraid to admit it to myself because love has hurt me in the past. But, now I realize that that makes me more willing to fight for it."

Widowmaker stopped breathing. Was this some twisted reality? "Who is stupid enough to fall in love with me?"

Lena jumped into Amélie's arms and wrapped her legs around Widow, exploring every inch of her mouth. Lena forgot about her internal struggle with Emily. Did Lena love Emily? Perhaps. She would always be in her heart, however faint that may be. But, what Emily did to her was unforgivable. Lena wanted to live in the moment- and that's exactly what she did.

Widowmaker put her hands on Lena's waist and carried her to Lena's bed.

Tracer fell on top of Widow, running her fingers through Widow's velvety hair.

It took all of Widowmaker's willpower to stop herself from going any further. She pulled back, completely out of breath and soaking wet.

Tracer collapsed next to Widow, looking up at the ceiling. Widow was emotionally and physically drained. Within minutes, she drowsily went back to sleep.

* * *

Tracer had been awake for a few hours, not wanting to disturb Widow's slumber. She was playing with Widow's signature hair.

Widow groaned as she stirred, getting up from her snug spot to use the shower.

"Geez!" Widow heard Lena vocalize from the bathroom after showering. "Do you bathe in negative temperatures?"

Widow didn't bring much of anything from her chateau, let alone many decent articles of clothing. Lena's shirt was basically a tight midriff on Widow. Not that Lena minded.

They had yet to address the elephant in the room. What would they say about last night?

Widowmaker didn't know what to make of the entire situation. She was absolutely terrified of what Lena had said to her.

I've been falling in love with you.

Love. It was by far the hardest feeling for Widow to describe. It was the first emotion she had felt when the psychological conditioning wore off. The other emotion that followed was much easier for her to put into words.

Grief, the powerful emotion of loss.

Widowmaker stared into the empty fire pit, lost in her mind.

"You good?" Lena asked, fresh out of the shower.

"I'm just... trying to sort out my emotions." The simple fact was that Tracer made her feel wanted, made her insides melt like warm butter. The more Widowmaker recognized that she was falling in love with Tracer, the deeper her craving for her got.

Tracer placed wood inside the fireplace, before momentarily lighting it up.

The reflection of the blazing fire lit up Widow's eyes.

"I can't stop myself from falling in love with you," Widow said.

"Then don't." Tracer made the first move this time. Lena planted a lustful kiss on her lips. Widow soon relaxed in Lena's arms, completely melting away under Tracer's experienced touch.

There was a feeling of wavering openness, a lovely sensation of ecstasy overcoming their bodies. They were, undoubtedly, free.

 **Nous nous félicitons des progrès constants qui ont été réalisés." We welcome the steady progress that has been made.**


	9. Chapter 9- Glide

**A/N: In response to a private message I received: I'm fully aware this story isn't perfect! I love writing because it's fun :) Fun is my #1 priority. And also, I appreciate you all for** **waiting :)**

Lena glanced over at the sleeping assassin, lost in her train of thought.

Images of Emily's lovely smile kept surfacing, even after she so desperately attempted to drown them amidst her sea of memories.

Her emotions were going berserk. Tracer didn't want to acknowledge the fact that she simply didn't give herself enough time to properly heal. She allowed herself to simply get caught up in the moment.

She pushed these thoughts in the back of her head. She wouldn't allow Emily to prevent her from moving forward, no matter how painful it would be. Right?

"I leave for Gibraltar soon," Lena commented. "But I don't want to leave without you."

"Then don't. Leave with me."

"Fine. Blue beauty," Lena said.

"We're on a nickname basis now?" Widow teased. "In that case, yours is Annoyance."

Lena pouted. "You're no fun."

"No fun, hm? We'll see about that."

Lena scanned the room, before groggily mumbling, "Sleep with me."

Widow didn't know how to respond to that request. "Sex? Right now?"

"Um, Widow? I meant actually sleeping. You know, sleep as in shutting your eyes for eight hours," Lena said, smiling stupidly.

An awkward moment of silence passed between the pair. "Oh."

Widow and Tracer trekked back to the master bedroom, where they situated themselves underneath the sheets and snuggled up against one another.

Lena nested up against her pillow, but only temporarily. The pillow still had the faint smell of Emily's summer breeze perfume. Thinking about her pained Lena to a numbing state of mind.

Lena gently dislodged a pillow that was situated in Widowmaker's arms, who was falling asleep at a rapid rate. She didn't notice the pillow's absence.

Lena plopped her face against Widow's pillow and was extremely satisfied when Emily's scent was thoroughly drowned out.

Lena wanted nothing more than to stay in dreamland with Widowmaker by her side. Yet, she had responsibilities on earth that she needed to take care of.

* * *

The blaring sunlight nearly blinded "Danielle" and Lena as they boarded off the plane. White streaks in the sky soon faded to orange as the sun set.

"The perimeters of the watchpoint are now secured. Only authorized personnel are permitted on the grounds now. You sure you can sneak your way into the base?" Tracer asked, nervously looking around her.

"I infiltrate bases for a living, remember? I'll be there before you know it."

Widow handed Lena her luggage, before hugging her one last time.

Tracer was skeptical about Widow's ability to enter the watchpoint, before she realized that she had no reason to be. Widow had only been one of Talon's most stealthy agents.

It was now nighttime, and only the luminescent glow of the moon provided sunlight. Widow was at the jagged bottom of the towering cliff where the watchpoint stood. Now, she was going to make the dangerous trek up the side of the cliff.

Widow secured her harness, before calculating the position of her grappling hook.

Parfait.

She rapidly made the ascent with immense grace and precision, freely gliding into the night sky. She embraced the breeze of the night, its openness as big and deep as the ocean underneath her. In the moment, she wasn't broken, lost in the shadow of her past. She simply allowed herself to freely glide.

Widow noticed the several security cameras positioned around the perimeter. There were no people near the barracks. Widowmaker peered at the ancient security cameras, content that they weren't in use anymore. She located Tracer's room number and knocked four times in a specific pattern, signaling her presence. Lena quickly ushered Widow into the room. The pair were lucky that Lena's barrack was far away and distant from the other rooms situated at the watchpoint.

"Fucking hell, you actually did it!"

"Please. Child's play."

Lena was slightly concerned that Widow could easily enter the base. However, she wasn't about to tell Morrison to up security measures. That would mean bad news for Widowmaker.

Widow undid her ponytail and plopped down on the couch. Lena rarely, if ever, saw Widow's hair down.

"I'm gonna turn in for the day, love. You should do the same."

"Do you have my belongings?" Widowmaker asked.

"Mmhmm. They're in the corridor."

"Go on and get some rest. I'll join you in a second."

* * *

The rumble of people going to work for the day woke up Lena. "I wish I could stay here with you, love." She glanced over at Widowmaker, who was lying on her stomach.

"Have fun," Widow said, adjusting herself in the bedsheets.

"How'd you sleep?"

"Fine, thank you."

"There's food in the fridge and pantry. I'll be back before you know it."

As soon as Lena closed the door, Widow rushed over to her luggage, looking for her prescribed pills. Her heart immediately stopped when she opened the compartment she last had them.

No, no! She packed them, she was sure of it.

Widow let out a sigh of relief as she discovered them at the bottom of her bag. She had completely skipped a day.

No matter. She had skipped a day before. There had been no repercussions to her actions then. She just had to be more careful next time.

Widow placed her daily dose of pills in her mouth, downing them with a splash of tap water.

Lena was in the dining hall, attempting to find familiar faces among the sea of new recruits. Everyone was getting adjusted to the watchpoint, especially the newbies.

Lena jumped as someone slammed their fist down on the table she was near. "Is that who I think it is?"

"Torbjörn!" Lena squealed, hugging the man. "It's so great to see a familiar face around here!"

"Damn new recruits don't know what they're in for," Torb grinned. "Whaddaya say you join me at the table over there?"

To Lena's excitement, Mercy and Genji were at the table, laughing and talking away. She quickly grabbed her food and plopped down next to the pair, greeting them with wholesome hugs.

"Pretty weird that we are operating again, right luvs?" Lena commented, digging into her fruit.

Mercy and Genji gave one another a rather... amusing look. "Sure is, Lena," Genji replied, getting up from his seat. "Well, we must catch up sometime. You'll have to excuse me. I'm afraid I have business to tend to." With that, Genji rushed out of the dining hall.

"Lena!" Mercy sharply whispered, trying not to smirk.

"What?"

"You have, um, 'bruises' all over your neck."

An awkward pause followed the table. Torb momentarily just about lost it, and he excused himself to go get more helpings. "Well, then," Lena whispered.

"Do you want to go to the restroom and cover them up?"

A part of Lena wanted to flaunt her lover's marks. Yet, she decided against it. Morrison would have her head should he find out Lena walked around base with hickeys. "Yes, please."

Mercy worked her magic on Lena's neck, masking the spots with concealer.

"What does Danielle do to you?"

Lena was taken aback by the question. "Well, um, she-"

"That was a rhetorical question, Lena."

"How's Gibraltar treating you so far?" Trader quickly asked.

"Fine. Morrison has plans for me to travel to Baton Rouge very soon for a human welfare crisis."

"I haven't received a mission yet," Lena swiftly lied. "I'm just waiting for some action, I suppose."

Mercy put her concealer away. "Done."

"Wow, Angie! Ever thought about ditching Overwatch and becoming a makeup artist?"

Angela laughed. "Something like that."

"Mercy?"

"Hm?"

"I really missed you, luv."

Angela smiled. "Let's head back to the dining hall, maus."

* * *

"Hiya, luv," Tracer said, slipping in the seat next to a girl, a new recruit that was sought after due to her piloting mech skills. Morrison had apparently called both of the recruits into his office after breakfast. "What's your name?"

Hana Song shyly looked down, unable to look her idol in the eyes. Tracer was one of the primary reasons Hana decided to train to become a pilot for the Overwatch Air Strike Team. "H-Hana. But friends call me ," she whispered, twiddling her thumbs.

"Don't be shy, luv! Are you nervous?"

nodded somewhat eagerly. "All I know is that Commander wanted me to go on a mission with you due to your piloting skills."

"You're training to be a pilot? How old are you? 16? Maybe 17?"

"I'm 19, Ms. Oxton."

Tracer giggled. "Friends call me Lena. Or Tracer. The latter if you prefer!"

Tracer immediately shut up as Soldier 76 walked into the room, shutting the door confidentially behind him. "Agent Oxton. Song?"

Hana nodded. Morrison continued, "Great! We're all here." Immediately, the room began to light up. Morrison often came off as a cruel, condescending, and serious entity that should not be messed with. In reality, although he was far from lax, he was a compassionate and respectful man. Nearly everyone that had worked with him liked him for who he was.

"I don't think I've formally met you, Song. I heard you're a stellar mech pilot."

"Y-yes, Commander."

"Getting into mission specifics. Overwatch has detected unauthorized aircraft presence in Spain, most notably Andalusia. We are making the assumption that it is a stealth aircraft and that whoever is piloting it didn't properly reduce the aircraft's radar emission."

"Rookie mistake," Tracer murmured.

"We currently don't know the source of the aircraft and its intentions. This is where you two come into play." Morrison sat down. "Oxton will pilot one of our own stealth aircrafts while Song watches and takes notes. Oxton, I expect you to determine if the unidentified aircraft is a threat. It most likely isn't. However, if it is, you need to handle the situation."

"That's... rather ambiguous, Jackaroni," Tracer exclaimed, covering her mouth instantly after her little nickname for Morrison slipped out.

Morrison simply stared at Lena for a few godawful seconds. "We'll have two other aircrafts searching in different, although fairly close, locations. If anything happens, you'll have them for backup. Remember, mission details are never repeated to anyone except the people in this room," Soldier 76 barked, looking directly at .

"Yessir," the girls uttered in unison, thus being dismissed.

"Song, you're dismissed. Oxton, stay put."

"Mercy thinks the nickname's cute!" Lena exclaimed.

"I wanted to talk to you about your last mission," Jack smirked, crossing his arms.

"Oh. Alright then. What about it?"

"I believe I know who the woman we saw at the party is affiliated with."

Tracer visibly gulped. "You do?"

"Talon. It's the only plausible explanation. Initially, I believed that the agent sent to Gallegos was Widowmaker. I assume by now you know who she is."

"Yup. I think I do recall her..."

"Now... would you say that you would recognize Widowmaker if you saw her?"

"She's not hard to miss, Commander."

"I haven't looked at our description of Widowmaker, although I've heard stories. Vague stories, but stories nonetheless. Can you summarize her appearance for me?"

"Um, well... she's about 5'9. Has long, dark blue hair. Most notably, and perhaps most notoriously, her skin has a light blue tint to it."

"What color are her eyes?"

Tracer knew that describing her eyes would be a dead giveaway. "They're... brown, I wanna say."

"5'9... brown eyes... long dark hair. Would you say that the woman we encountered at the party matches Widowmaker's description?"

"Um... well... I can't be entirely sure. The woman was wearing a masquerade mask, sir. And even if it was her, Commander, why would Talon go after someone they were working with?"

"Scare tactic," Morrison suggested. "Or Gallegos may have done something against Talon's wishes. He fled as soon as we had enough evidence to charge him with conspiracy." Morrison took a sip of water. "That's all I wanted to talk to you about. You're dismissed."

* * *

"Alright, luv. I gotta make some house rules before we hit the road. Or sky. Whatever," Tracer attempted to assert, placing her equipment in the cockpit. "Don't touch anything unless I tell you to. Take note of every little procedure I do, every dial, every button, every maneuver. One wrong move on my part, and we're as good as dead! Don't need to worry about that, though. You're well taken care of!"

Hana nodded and gulped, not feeling reassured at all. Tracer smiled. "Let's perform an inspection of the aircraft before taking off."

Hana and Lena were cruising the skies at a comfortable altitude, making banter as Tracer attempted to teach Hana the basics of flying. They were in the skies nearly undetected. Lena expertly reduced the aircraft's emission of waves. The stealth aircraft was also cloaked by a technology that rendered it invisible to the naked eye.

No aircraft is completely invisible to detect. But, Tracer could get pretty damn close.

"Alright, luv. I've received the coordinates of the aircraft's last known location," she said as she turned her head towards Hana, who had been sitting tensely in her seat the entire duration of the ride.

The pair came across a forest. Tracer picked up her com and said, "Approaching location. No sign of aircraft detected. Space to land. Executing Protocol 106."

Tracer was about to land the aircraft, when a rather peculiar sight caught her eye. She squinted her eyes. "Aircraft detected. Proceeding with caution. Standby."

Hana stared incredulously at Tracer. "Aircraft? I don't see anything."

Lena gave Hana a crooked smile. " , do you know how to detect stealth aircrafts visually?"

"I... thought that it was impossible to visually detect stealth aircrafts."

"It's true that we can't physically see the stealth aircraft. But, the way we know it's there is by observing the objects around it." Lena pointed and exclaimed, "Take a closer look at the trees and notice their bent appearance."

"I see it!" enthusiastically replied, getting up from her seat in order to get a closer look.

All of a sudden, a rocket out of seemingly nowhere rocked the aircraft Lena and Hana were in, forcing a cacophony of alarms to blare loudly. Hana yelped as a second stealth revealed itself nearly 200 feet away.

Lena had only seen that model of aircraft once in her life. It resembled the aircraft that had picked up Widowmaker that fateful night Mondotta was assassinated.

Tracer and Hana were still invisible, Tracer was sure of it. How did the Talon fighter detect them? Visually, as Lena did?

"Buckle up, luv!" Tracer yelled, steering away from the threat. She was not about to engage in combat with Hana in the vehicle. Tracer attempted to dodge a torrent of bullets, coming from both aircrafts now, to little avail.

Lena checked the control panel. The right wing was already damaged and unusable. They were losing altitude, and fast.

Tracer reached for the com and panically yelled, "Talon aircrafts detected! Right wing damaged. We will have to take off on foot!"

"What?" Hana squealed.

Tracer didn't answer her. She turned the aircraft as fast as she could and zoomed past the two Talon aircrafts, who were quick to pursue her.

Tracer made a bumpy emergency landing in a rather small forest clearing. Hana shrieked the entire time, covering her eyes with her hands.

Tracer unbuckled Hana's seatbelt and hastily grabbed her hand as the broken wing caught on fire.

Lena and Hana ran towards the greenery surrounding the area. There was no sign of civilization anywhere. The forest trees obscured the Talon aircraft's view of the pair.

"Keep your head low. Walk swiftly, but don't rustle the leaves too much," Tracer sharply whispered, as if the Talon aircrafts themselves could overhear her.

looked over her shoulder, realizing that she would see nothing past the canopy of browning tree leaves.

It was eerily quiet. The only thing Hana could hear was her warm blood pulsing through her ears, her shallow, panicked breaths, and the soft, almost comforting murmur of Lena's voice as she called for backup.

After what felt like hours, although it had been a mere 10 minutes, Tracer finally acknowledged Hana once more. "I think they're gone now. Just keep walking, luv. Just keep walking."

Lena jumped as an intense aerodynamic noise neared itself towards the pair. It wasn't until the Overwatch aircrafts revealed themselves did the girls let out a sigh of relief.

* * *

It had been days since Widow and Tracer arrived at the watchpoint. Widowmaker was the master of patience. At least, she had been. For the majority of her time at Talon, she would do nothing but lie in wait. And wait. And wait. Now, her prominent virtue was running thin. She longed to be with the one person who made her feel like she was something. Lena often wasn't home until very early in the morning. And, by then, she was already tired and worn down from the day.

Tracer didn't expect Widowmaker to be cooped up in a room all day while she worked, did she?

No matter how much she rationalized it, Widowmaker couldn't undermine the fact that what she was about to do was incredibly stupid. She needed to explore the watchpoint and see if there were any other entrances and exits in the watchpoint that she should be aware of in case she's found out.

Widowmaker took one last look in the mirror. Her concealer appeared glossy against her skin, but it simply had to do. Tracer's spare Overwatch uniform was obviously a few sizes too small, and Widow had to compensate by wearing Lena's bulky British Air Force jacket. Widowmaker pulled her hair in a tight bun and hoisted a single pistol on her waist.

Widow, through daily observation, knew that hardly anyone was on the west sector of the base between the hours of 10 pm to 12 pm. According to Lena, the cameras were definitely disabled and outdated.

Widowmaker locked the door behind her and silently glided through the open halls.

She mentally mapped out most of the sector, along with it's rather numerous exits. She was about to scurry back to the room, when four men, seemingly low in rank, appeared out of the corner halls. Widowmaker casually walked in the opposite direction, avoiding direct eye contact.

"You're part of the Royal Air Force?" the only blonde recruit asked as Widow internally sighed.

Widow nodded briefly.

"You're not permitted to wear other uniform while on Overwatch grounds."

Widow stopped in her tracks without looking back. "You must be a new recruit," Widowmaker muttered, her tone low and threatening. She purposefully didn't show her face to the men. "Let me fill you in on a little secret. You don't get to tell higher ranks what they can and can't wear on Overwatch grounds. You're lucky I even acknowledge your presence. Now, I kindly suggest you shut your mouth before it gets you into trouble." With that, Widow turned a corner and vanished out of sight.

Amélie just about had a heart attack when Tracer swiftly pulled her into the room.

"Lena!" Widowmaker shrieked, but not loud enough to be heard throughout the barrack.

"Sorry to frighten you like that, love!" Lena exclaimed, unable to contain her giggles.

"You aren't mad that I left?"

"No, not at all! Just please be careful when you enter and exit the base. I know you like doing your own thing while I do mine."

"How was your day?"

"Had to cut an educational mission short. Talon crashed the party."

Widow snorted. "We always do."

"You can say that again, love. It's starting to get annoying."

"Starting to get annoying? Interesting. To me, you were annoying from the start," Widow teased.

"I feel attacked!" Tracer giggled.

With one seamless move, Widowmaker picked up Lena by the waist and spun her until Lena's back was to the bed and Widowmaker was on top of her. "As you should, chérie."

Their playtime was cut short when someone suddenly pounded on the door. Widowmaker got off of Tracer and lightly scurried towards the bedroom.

Tracer fixed her hair and straightened her shirt before opening the door.

"Verdammt, Lena!" Mercy exclaimed, letting herself in the room. She opened up the pantry and began making coffee. "Be more careful next time you're out on a mission. I thought Hana was going to faint when she came to see me in the infirmary."

"Is she okay?"

"She acquired a few bumps and bruises, nothing major. I suppose you are fine too?"

"Yeah. I was told to go see ya, but I saw no reason to. Figured you have enough on your plate."

"Work's been slow so far. If only it stayed that way. Want some creamer in your coffee?"

"Uh, no thanks, Angie." Tracer, arms akimbo, jokingly stated, "First you barge into my home without warning, and now you're making coffee with my own finite resources? Absolute madman you are!"

"Caught me. I'm stealing your creamer, by the way. How's Em- Danielle- doing?"

Tracer noticed the little slip. She slightly shivered. "Dani? Oh, she's doing wonderful!"

"I don't... actually... never mind-"

"Oi, now you gotta say it, luv! What is it?"

"I don't mean this in a rude way, but Danielle seems... different from your usual taste in women. She's... just not what I'd expect." Mercy could usually read the auras of everyday people. She had a gift for judging character based solely on appearance and mannerisms. However, Danielle was different. There was something mysterious about her aura. Mercy didn't want to use the word "off" to describe it. All Mercy knew was that Danielle came off as intimidating and uniquely intelligent.

"She's out of my league for sure," Lena replied swiftly. "But something just... drew me to her."

"Do you love her?"

Tracer didn't know how to respond to that. Love was just such a powerful thing to declare. Mercy said what was on her mind before Lena could respond. "I'm sorry. That was too forthright. I suppose you've only just began dating, so you don't know yet." Angela took a sip out of her scalding coffee cup. "When are your days off?"

"Depends on the week. Tomorrow's my first day off, actually. Why?"

"I would love to catch up with you and go shopping in Spain."

"Oh... I wish I could, but Danielle had plans to see me..."

"You could invite her, too! It would be a little girls' day. But, if you just want to spend time with her, I completely understand."

"I'll... get back to you on that one, Angie."

"Alright. I have to turn in for the night, but I hope to see you soon!"

After Angela left, Widowmaker swung open the door and bluntly said, "If you want to hang out with Angela tomorrow, it's fine."

"I'd rather spend time with you."

Widowmaker thought for a moment. Tracer exclaimed, "You aren't really thinking about going on that shopping trip, are you?"

"Non, non. Too risky, especially considering it would be the entire day."

"You're right."

"You know, you were right about something today."

"And what's that?"

Widowmaker sat down slowly on the bed, crossing her legs in the process. "I'm out of your league."


	10. Chapter 10-Gérard

**A/N: Guess what happened not too recently that I forgot to mention?! I MET THE VOICE ACTORS FOR TORB, SYMMETRA, AND SOMBRA! When Sombra booped me, I just about fainted LOL. And BLIZZCON AND THE CINEMATIC AND ASHE! I just have to post!**

 **Also, I appreciate you all so much! Thank you for the reviews and messages :) Now, here's la historia (the story)!**

 **27 years ago. Annecy, France.**

Little Amélie wordlessly stood in the laboratory doorway, clutching the hem of her dress and peering through the hall.

"Papa?" she finally called out, sticking one of her pudgy thumbs in her mouth.

"What is it?" she heard her her father call out, the metallic scrape of a chair being pushed echoing throughout the hall.

"What are you doing, Papa?"

Amélie's father picked her up and situated her securely in his arms, before he shut the door behind them. "I'm working, Amé. Is there something you need?"

Amélie thought for a lengthy moment, before shaking her head no. Her father smiled.

"Papa, what's that?" Amélie asked, pointing to a rather peculiar item on her father's lab desk.

"That is a human brain. I'm dissecting it for a project."

"Dissect?"

"I'm cutting it up and looking at it."

"Why?"

"The brain is a complex thing that has many parts we need to examine. Do you know what the brain does?"

Amélie shook her head no once more.

The man placed Amélie on the floor, before patting her head. "The brain controls everything we do. But, most importantly, we think with our brain. If we didn't think at a complex level, then what would make us human?" He sat in thought for a moment, contriving his next words skillfully. "You know, Amélie, the mind is malleable. What is instilled in you today will determine your personality, mindset, and mannerisms of tomorrow. I like to think that many of the ills of men are learned, not innate." Amélie's father glanced towards the brain. "Let's see... come over here," he instructed, placing an arm around her shoulder. "Put on these gloves. Okay, good. Hold out your hands. Be very gentle, now."

Amélie froze as her father cautiously placed the human brain in her tiny paws.

"Well, Amé? Tell me how it feels," her father said.

"Squishy."

"This used to be in a human. A human with real sentiments, real desires, real fears. You may be too young to understand now, but you will remember this moment and you will learn to appreciate the life you were given."

Amélie said nothing. Her father took the brain away from her loose grasp and set it on his laboratory desk.

"Amélie," he began, tenderly taking the gloves off her fingers and bringing out the bottle of disinfectant. "I sometimes I wonder if I'm raising you right. I hope you grow up to be a wonderful woman. Actually, no, I don't hope so. I know you will."

"I want to be a ballerina when I grow up!"

Her father laughed. "And a ballerina you shall be if you work hard enough. Now go play. I have to finish up work."

* * *

 **Some time ago. Paris, France.**

She sharply drew in a breath. "Exhale out all your nerves," she said to herself, shaking out her arms.

Her mind raced. Had she prepared enough? She had only danced until she executed every move with precision and technicality, had danced until her toenails broke off and bled, had danced until her tendons ached and begged to be put down.

Yes, she was prepared. But why was she so jittery?

"Nervous?"

She turned around, looking for the source of the voice, only to face the crimson curtains that signaled it was almost time for her to depart into the dance world.

"Hello?" she called out with a small voice. All she could hear were the soft murmur of voices beyond the velvety curtains.

Amélie scurried towards the curtains, before peeking through a small opening. She wished she hadn't. This was her largest crowd yet. And, perhaps, her most prestigious crowd. Dance enthusiasts and connoisseurs alike gathered to watch her performance. Her.

Somebody placed their hand on her shoulder, causing her to jump.

"Guillard. You're up," an older woman said quickly, before rushing over towards the opposite end of the stage.

The rumble of voices came to an excruciating halt. The curtains began to rise. Amélie drew in another sharp breath, before going into fourth position.

* * *

Amélie unlaced her shoes, the smell of sweat and perfume filling her nose as she simultaneously wiped the moisture off of her face with a damp cloth.

"Riveting performance," she heard someone say behind her.

Thinking the voice belonged to one of the crew members, Amélie said, "Thank you. Can you please tell my dance director to meet me here? There are a few-"

Amélie spun her head around, before realizing that the handsome man that stood before her wasn't a crew member. She blinked a few times, before asking, "Are you an audience member? How did you gain access to the backstage?"

"Simple. I slid through the door that said 'personnel only'." The man flashed his pearly whites. "You're not going to tell on me, are you?"

Amélie shrugged. "Depends on your intentions."

"Mmm. Well, Ms. Guillard, my intent was to just meet you in person after that performance. I just want to tell you that you changed my perspective on ballet."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I don't think it's a complete waste of time anymore."

Amélie smirked. "If you thought ballet was a waste of time, then why did you come to watch a ballet performance?"

"A colleague of mine has never been to Paris. He wanted to experience, quote, the 'cultural aspect of France'. I guess that includes our renowned dance program."

"Interesting," Amélie hummed. "I have no ill feelings towards you for initially disliking ballet. Ballet has become a... misunderstood art form." Amélie undid her immaculate bun, before placing her shoes in her bag.

"How long have you been dancing?"

"As long as I can remember. I like to think it has always been an innate passion of mine. Dance is just... the hidden language of the soul." Amélie paused. "You might want to leave now before someone questions you."

"Will do, Ms. Guillard. I'm Gérard, by the way."

"Gérard." Amélie nibbled on her lower lip. "Come with me. I'll sneak you out."

* * *

For the remainder of the month, Gérard didn't miss a single performance. He admittedly never got tired watching Amélie. Every aspect of her made him glow with pride and rejoice in a newfound passion for the art of ballet.

Amélie would notice him amidst the sea of guests, and she would briefly smile in his general direction after every performance.

Suddenly, he stopped showing up. Amélie didn't blame him. She wouldn't want to see the same production tens of times in a row, no matter how well executed it was.

The days soon evaporated away and became mere memories. Amélie had finished her last performance of the year. It was a night of celebration and relief. She definitely would do less performances next year. She simply didn't allocate enough time for herself, didn't allow herself to adventure and conquer the daring and bold. She was in the prime of her life, for crying out loud! Live a little.

Amélie shuffled quickly to her car, humming the tune of an early 2000's French song. It was only until she reached the opposite end of her car did she notice Gérard standing by the doorway, holding a bouquet of yellow roses.

"Ms. Guillard. I hope I didn't startle you."

"Gérard, if I remember correctly?"

"Yes. I came just in time to view your last performance. I just wanted to deliver these to you as a congratulations gift."

"That's so thoughtful, Gérard. Thank you very much." Amélie wrapped her arm around the bouquet, before asking, "What have you been up to?"

"Work. Lots of it. I've been in the United States for the past few months."

"If you don't mind me asking, what is your profession?"

"I work for an international peacekeeping organization."

"You're an Overwatch agent," Amélie immediately responded, causing Gérard to chuckle.

"Yes. I am."

"Enthralling stuff." The sight of Gérard all dressed up in his tuxedo with his sleek black hair combed neatly made Amélie blush. She decided to make her move. "Are you doing anything for the remainder of the night?"

Gérard glanced down at his watch. "No. Why?"

"I want to have fun tonight. You seem like the type of person to make it happen."

"Well, Ms. Guillard. If fun is what you want, then fun is what you'll get."

* * *

Present Day.

Tracer woke up to the sound of unzipping and toiletries being sifted through.

Widowmaker was going through her belongings, attempting not to panic. She had many bad habits and little quirks that were nothing short of annoying. Yet, nothing irked her more than her tendency to misplace literally everything.

The foreign, yet recognizable, feeling of something lodging in her throat overcame her. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she stifled a choke.

"What's wrong, love?" Tracer dashed over towards Widowmaker. "Talk to me."

"I-I lost something. A photo."

"Hold on, now. Let me help you find it."

"No. I already checked everywhere. It's gone. It's gone..." Tracer didn't have time to react as Widow got up and ran out of the room.

Tracer found Amélie sitting at the edge of the cliff, wordlessly hanging her head down low. Lena calmly situated herself next to Widow, not having any intention to speak to her.

"He's gone," Widowmaker whispered.

Tracer glanced over at Widowmaker.

"I've known it for a long time. But it never properly hit me." Widow sat in silence, attempting to devise her words carefully. "Our wedding photo was the only thing I had left of him. And now it's gone. He's gone."

The details surrounding Gérard's death were still somewhat fuzzy to Lena. He had long been dead when she first joined Overwatch. Tracer never asked about it, as she saw it as none of her business. Also, in some weird way, talking about the details surrounding his death was a form of taboo. Lena had heard stories, often outlandish and ridiculous. One particular theory that stood out like a sore thumb to Lena was that his wife had been secretly working with Talon the entire duration they knew each other. The wife's kidnapping had been staged, and it gave Gérard an incentive to stay home and waste valuable resources for a rescue mission. Gérard's wife would then push for Overwatch intelligence, before she'd get rid of the bug that was Gérard. It was a well thought out ploy.

Initially, when Lena heard this version of the story years ago, she pushed it away. She made it a habit to not believe everything that circulated amongst her peers. Now, of course, Lena marked that story as null and void.

Widow drowned out her thoughts by focusing on the sound of the sloshing waves dancing against the rock and earth.

"I killed him."

Widow began grinding her hand against the jagged edge of the cliff. Tracer grabbed onto Widow's wrist, before lifting it up.

"Your hand is bleeding, love," Lena whispered.

Widow raised and stretched her arm outward, allowing her thick purple blood to drip down her arm and elbow, before dissipating into the sea. "Talon programmed me so that I wouldn't be awake when I killed Gérard. I'm somewhat grateful for that." Widowmaker's voice cracked painfully as she recounted, "I was still on top of his lifeless body when I woke up."

Widowmaker remembered looking down at her bloodied arms and legs, looking at her mutilated lover with not so much as a careless glance. "And do you know how much pain I was in when I looked at him? Absolutely none."

"Honey..." Tracer began to say. "What happened to Gérard was in no way your fault. Talon killed him, not you. Not you."

Amélie allowed the stinging pain in her hand to settle in. She grimaced.

"Do you believe in an afterlife?" Tracer asked.

"I was a Catholic a lifetime ago." Amélie smirked. "I suppose religion is supposed to be a vessel for comfort. It's not very comforting to know that there's a special place in hell for someone like me. So I stopped believing."

Widowmaker opened her mouth to vocalize a thought she had regarding her relationship with Tracer. How wrong was it?

Lena helped fill the gaping hole in Amélie's malfunctioning heart. Amélie knew that Gérard would want her to find happiness, true happiness. Even if it meant letting him go to a certain extent.

Tracer was providing Widow with so much support, guidance, and love. Amélie knew that time would begin to heal her wounds on her journey to self revitalization. Even if it meant that they'd leave permanent scars.

Lena interrupted Widow's train of thought. "You lost a photo that meant something to you. But, it doesn't erase the memories you have associated with it. You'll always have Gérard right here." Lena placed two fingers in the center of Widow's chest.

Tracer got up from her spot, before stretching her hand outward for Widow to take. "Let's go inside and talk. People are gonna start to wake up soon."

Widow took Tracer's warm hand in her bloodstained grasp, before getting up. The musical sound of the waves clashing against the cliff faded away as they neared the watchpoint.

* * *

 **Some** **time ago. France.**

It had been nearly three years since that night Gérard brought the roses to Amélie. The pair had been inseparable since. When Amélie was around him, she felt nothing but pure and inexorable joy. She didn't mind his work hours. So as long as she was with him when she could be.

She felt so loved in his presence.

Amélie and Gérard walked on the beach, hand in hand as the sand scrunched beneath their feet and as the sun began to set.

"Look at the sky," Amélie pointed, absolutely admiring the beauty of the clashing purples and pinks and oranges.

Gérard raised Amélie's hand in order to kiss it. "You're a beautiful sight against the background of the sky, mon Amé."

Amélie shuffled through the videos on her recorder, clearing out space while Gérard set up the equipment.

"Are you ready?" Gérard asked, adjusting the tripod.

Amélie was about to make a duet dance video and submit it as an audition for a dance group located in Los Angeles, California. Gérard and Amélie were going to combine elements of ballet and contemporary dance in a unique form, demonstrating Amélie's ability to coordinate and mesh two different styles together. Gérard had prepared extensively for the dance, even taking work off his schedule over a period of a few months.

"Ready to crush this?" Amélie grinned, adjusting her flowing dress.

The music began to play. Amélie closed her eyes and immediately released herself into another universe. She concentrated not on her form, but on the tranquil sounds of the beach. She allowed herself to be one with the colorful sky, following the breeze and matching her partner's fluidity.

"Let me crawl inside your veins." Amélie and Gérard were well acquainted with one another's movements. Amélie emotionally showed her character's struggle with her lover, went to her knees and elbows and allowed the waves to tear her down.

"Let me hold you..." Amélie went on her back against the sand and arched it in submission, extending her arm towards Gérard, only to be greeted by the relentlessly alluring sky. Amélie's character sat up, attempting to break free from her lover. Yet, Gérard's character stubbornly swore to have her, demonstrating the horrifying dynamic between love and possession.

"...Like a hostage." Gérard and Amélie nearly finished their routine, a controlled spasm of confusion and sadness contorted on Amélie's soft face. Amélie had to contain the happiness from flooding her eyes as she fell to her knees, seemingly defeated by her lover's persistence.

It was over before Amélie had a chance to bask in the glory of her choreography. She jumped up from her spot on the sand and tightly hugged Gérard. Gérard pulled back from the hug and grabbed her hands, the video camera still recording their interaction.

"Amélie... from the moment I laid my eyes on you, you've made me a better and more understanding man," Gérard confessed. "You're the absolute love of my life, mon Amé. You've accepted me for my faults and empowered me through my strengths. I would spend a millennia searching for you if it meant that I would find you one day. I may have my doubts and uncertainties. However, I am absolutely certain that I want to spend the rest of my days dancing with you."

Gérard went on a knee, unshakably holding open a box filled with a single diamond ring. Amélie covered her mouth with her hands.

"Amélie Guillard, will you marry me?"

"Oh, Gérard... of course I will," Amélie clutched her chest with one hand, extending the other one out for Gérard to slip the exorbitant ring on her slender finger.

Gérard got up and picked up Amélie by the waist, spinning her while kissing her satiny lips. Amélie placed her arms around his neck and pulled her love into a tight hug.

Her heart fluttered and kicked and laughed and danced. She had never been so content with a decision in her entire life.


	11. Chapter 11- Shooting

Widowmaker had passed out the moment her head landed on Lena's plushy pillow. Lena, while lying down, ran her warm fingers against the cool of Widowmaker's back, endlessly tracing the details of the black widow spider that permanently encompassed the entirety of it. The pair stayed in bed practically the whole day.

"Non..." Lena heard Widow mumble in her sleep, tossing the bedsheets to the side.

Amélie woke up with a bandage around her cut hand. Her arm was stained with a few streaks of aging, crusted blood. Once Tracer noticed that she was awake, she grabbed a washcloth and applied warm water to the area.

"What time is it?" Widow asked, checking the clock before Tracer could respond.

"It's 9 pm, love. You've been out the whole day."

Widow groaned, before shaking out her arms and legs in order to wake them up. The turbulent rain screamed and pounded against the windows of Tracer's room.

Widowmaker absolutely loved the rain and snow. It always made her missions ten times more exciting. Executing a perfect shot in the temple of someone's head with less visual clarity than usual was so satisfying. The rain gave her some advantages, too. For instance, it's much harder to spot a blue skinned sniper in a torrential downpour.

Another part of the rain that Widow would never admit to most people was that it provided tranquility. She could think and breathe.

Amélie shuddered. Her mind went back to the day she placed a single rose on Gérard's grave. She could remember the feel of the elements, the brisk, chilly air, the snow pitter pattering itself against her locks.

Widow waited until Lena was fully asleep before changing into Lena's undersized uniform and covering her neck and face with foundation.

She hoisted the Widow's Kiss on her shoulder, before opening Tracer's copy of the watchpoint directory. The shooting range was all the way on the other side of the facility. She knew it was dangerous. But, she needed a release. What better way to release than to shoot things?

She scurried out the doorway at around 10, impatiently walking past all her visual cues.

Widow slid in Tracer's keycard, before being greeted by a large hallway and a sign with posted rules and guidelines.

Widow saw the targets illuminated against a rather dim light. She smiled. She had the shooting range all to herself.

Or did she?

The hairs on the back of Widow's neck stood straight up, signaling to her that someone was nearby. She rapidly turned around, instinctively pointing her rifle at the intruder.

"Woah! Easy there," a male vocalized, boldly tipping the barrel of Widow's rifle down.

Widow sighed. "Désolé," she murmured. Thank the gods that McCree was oblivious to the poorly applied foundation underneath the bleak lights.

"Oh. You're French. No wonder. Trigger happy people."

"Hm. Americans," Widow snapped back. "I'd expect a snarky remark like that from a Halloween styled cowboy."

Jesse McCree smirked and crossed his arms. "What's your name, darling?"

"Wouldn't you love to know, sugarplum?"

This woman's banter reminded McCree of Ashe. This woman was definitely not a force to reckon with. She gave off huge alpha energy.

"Never seen you around here."

"I'm new."

"Nice rifle ya got there," McCree beckoned, noting the W plastered on its side. "Where'd ya get a beaut like that?"

"Gifted to me." Widow began walking out the door, not willing to stay at the shooting range with another person occupying it.

"So you're just gonna up and leave without shooting anything?"

"I assumed that nobody would be in here. I don't practice around other people."

"Cadet, you're gonna have to practice with other people one day, especially if you're in the sniper division. Ana's got no patience for fooldickery."

"Who?"

"Wait, what are you being trained for? Who are you affiliated with?"

Widow had no idea what to say. Yet, she showed no signs of hesitation as she said, "Sniper class. I worked under the Légion étrangère before deciding to join Overwatch on my own accord."

"No idea what that means. But okay."

"A military service branch. Where's the ammo around here?" Widow decided that leaving would make her seem more suspicious than she already was. She would stay, so as long as she kept her distance from the cowboy.

"To your left." McCree also reloaded his revolver, before making his way up to one of the targets. He drew in a sharp breath of air, before promptly placing several bullets dead center of the target's chest and head.

Widow couldn't deny the fact that she was impressed at his marksmanship. She strutted up to an aisle sizably distant from McCree, before doing the exact same thing.

"Ever shoot a revolver?" McCree asked after some time of silent shooting had passed.

Widow had no intention of speaking to the man, but she found herself talking anyways. "No. One of the very few firearms I never got into."

"Wanna take my Peacekeeper out on a date?"

Widow hadn't thought about ever shooting other guns besides her own. "I'll pass, Cowboy."

"I'll teach ya the basics. Ya ain't afraid of a little revolver, are ya?"

"Is that a challenge?" Amélie retorted, finally giving into McCree's request. If there was one fatal flaw Widow could work on, it was her tendency to not back down from anything. It often got her into trouble...

McCree showed her how to properly grip it, before handing his trusted weapon to her. "You have a hand injury?" McCree beckoned towards her bandaged hand.

"Mmhmm. But I can handle a gun properly."

"Alright, I'll take your word for it. For this one, ya don't wanna stand in a bladed stance like ya do with your rifle. Here." McCree placed his hands respectfully on Amélie's waist.

She immediately stiffened in his hands. "What are you-"

"Relax, darling. I'm just repositioning ya. Straighten your elbows. Good. Now, place the front blade in between the back sights. Once you're lined up, don't hesit-"

McCree jumped as Widow made a succession of shots, cutting through the target's head with each individual bullet. "Jesus! Warn a man next time!"

Dead silence passed through the stuffy air. McCree looked at Widow, waiting for a response. Or not.

"I'm so-sorry," Amélie choked, pointing the revolver down and placing it on the ground so she didn't accidentally shoot anything as she genuinely laughed at the absolutely ridiculous situation she found herself in. A fucking metal-armed cowboy was teaching her how to shoot a revolver at midnight in an Overwatch shooting range.

McCree could help but begin laughing too. God, Amélie's giddy laugh was so contagious. "I thought you said you've never shot a revolver."

"I haven't."

"You're either a natural or a lucky shot. Or both."

McCree and Widow locked eyes for a moment, before Widow turned her head. When in public, she always diverted her eyes away from strangers. Part of it was social anxiety. Another part of it was so that nobody could truly notice the discoloration of her eyes.

McCree cleared his throat. "How confident are you in your sniping abilities?"

Widow appeared to be anything but modest with her skills. There were few people in the world that could match her abilities. And she knew it.

However, there were moments of humility when it came to her skills. Underneath her confident and resolute facade, underneath her self-assured remarks, she was doubtful of her abilities. So, so doubtful. Under Talon, it was simply expected of her to perform highly. She had to be confident that she could execute the shot with unmatched accuracy. But, the more her brainwashing wore away, the more she felt that she couldn't exceed or even match her own expectations. There was just always something she didn't do well enough.

Widow shrugged. "Confident enough to finish the job."

"Even moving targets?"

"You can make the targets move?"

"Yup. Just installed last week. Wanna try?"

Widow shrugged, picking up her rifle.

McCree booted up a computer and typed something in, before the sounds of clunking and clacking awoke the machinery. Widow stood at a certain distance from the slow moving targets. She heaved a deep sigh, before scoping in.

McCree took in a deep drag of his cigarette, leaning back against the wall and observing Widow as the targets moved progressively faster. Everything, the pace of her breathing, the targets' speeds, the whirlwind of adrenaline brewing inside her, moved and jostled in slow motion as she concentrated on placing a bullet in each individual target's head. She didn't even notice the rapid speed at which she was working.

McCree gradually began to realize that he was observing a prodigy in her respected discipline. There was nothing ordinary about this woman. McCree knew almost nothing about the art of sniping, but even he was aware that her movements were borderline inhuman.

There was something unsettling about it. Who was she?

McCree couldn't even get an accuracy report because the computer couldn't process her shots in time. He had seen enough. He stopped the program.

Widow noticed the speed of the targets slowing down. She stopped shooting and looked over towards McCree, before she hoisted her rifle over her shoulder. "I'm afraid I have to scram, Cowboy." Before McCree could react, she disappeared into the dark aisle.

"Wait! What's your name?"

There would be no reply from her.

He looked back at the computer. The report score came back. 100% accuracy overall, 100% critical shot accuracy...

* * *

He walked with an air of superiority, a relentless, cruel walk. He glided towards the stealth fighter Lena had piloted before its wing gave way.

Tracer and Hana, in a rush to get to cover, failed to bring any belongings and possessions that they took with them for the mission.

All Hana virtually brought were the clothes on her back and a spiral notebook containing notes. She was never a fan of taking notes on electronic devices.

However, Tracer did leave something behind.

Reaper went across the aircraft, ignoring the fire that erupted on the right wing as a bad mother would ignore her distressed child.

If it weren't for Tracer, Reaper would have been at his destination by now. He had already killed the main pilot after Tracer and the other person with her got away.

Reaper didn't so much as flinch when debris fell from the rooftop in front of him. He set his sights on an orange and black backpack left by the control panel.

An obvious name tag confirmed that the backpack belonged to the time traveling pest. Reaper was about to leave, when he had the pressing urge to look through Tracer's belongings. Perhaps he'd find something of value.

There were very few things that shocked, let alone faze, Reaper. Especially when it came to humans. He was a great predictor of character. He knew who in Talon would betray his interests before the said person even knew.

The very photo he held weeks before was in his cold, dead hands once more.

Widowmaker's wedding photo was in the possession of Tracer.


	12. Chapter 12- Eruk

Tracer sat in Morrison's office with a wool blanket wrapped around her slender body. She could see her breath. She'd have to talk to someone about installing heating systems throughout the facility.

"You've probably heard. Twenty four hostages are currently being held in the capital of Eruk by the nation's foreign dictator. The media doesn't know it, but negotiations have reached an absolute stalemate. American armed forces abandoned Eruk a few days ago. They're saying it's not worth jeopardizing hundreds of lives for twenty four people." Morrison took off his signature glasses, revealing the rest of the slash of a scar on his face. "I'm going to send teams to take the dictator and his personnel out."

If there was a contrast between Jack Morrison and Lena Oxton, it was their views on killing. Jack viewed it as a necessity in crime and warfare, an inevitable part of his work.

Lena wasn't a killer. The times she had to kill, she seldom brought herself to think about it. But, she knew that she was doing it in the name of justice. Not virtue and peace. She didn't believe killing was in the name of virtue and peace.

"You're in charge of the entire operation. Team A is going to knock on Dictator Nevar's front door and take out his personnel. Taking out Nevar is going to be a tad bit more challenging. I'm sending a second team, Team B, to take him out. The team will consist of several snipers that will be located around the perimeter of the plaza. There are several snipers that aren't Overwatch members, but whom I'll be contacting for this mission."

"Who'll be my second in command?"

"I'll allow you to appoint whoever you think can handle the job."

Tracer raised an eyebrow. "Me? Appointing?"

"You handle yourself well out there. I trust you. You know the protocol," Morrison grumbled, lazily dismissing the time traveler.

Lena hurried back to her barrack, where Widow lounged in the kitchen, staring blankly at a book page that she wasn't even reading.

"You aren't tired?" Lena asked, turning up the heater.

Widow shook her head. "Haven't wanted to sleep lately."

"Guess what I brought home?"

"Hm... A kitten runt you found on the side of the road?"

"Mission specifics. I'm commanding an operation to save hostages in Eruk. I already know who I want second in command."

"Who?"

"Genji Shimada."

"Shimada. Hm. How terrible." Widow had a little unspoken grudge towards the man's brother. He was one of the few people that was an absolute pain in the ass to recruit. He wouldn't join Talon, no matter how... tempting some of her offers were.

"When do you leave for Eruk?" Widow asked.

"In an hour. Morrison said I'd be back in approximately a week, but don't bet on it. I have a feeling this operation will take longer."

Widow could tell through Lena's body language that something was bothering her. She beckoned for Tracer to sit down next to her.

"What's running through your mind?" Amélie inquired, cupping Lena's hand in her own.

"It's just... I don't know. I know what I signed up for when I joined Overwatch. But, it'll never feel right to me."

"Ah. Killing," Widow noted.

"I dunno how I feel about it."

"I'm going to be straight with you. I have no advice to give you on that matter based on my own personal experiences. However, based on what I've seen, it's completely unhealthy to pretend that aspect of your work doesn't exist. The key difference between your line of work and mine is that you're acknowledging when it is morally just to kill another human being."

Lena leaned in closer to Widow, before placing her temple against Widow's chest and wrapping her arms around her. "I appreciate you, ya know that?" Lena checked the time, before groaning exasperatingly. "I have to go. I'll be back before you know it. I promise."

Amélie chastely kissed Lena on the cheek as Lena wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and exited.

* * *

Teams A and B huddled in an abandoned store situated a few hundred meters away from the perimeter of the infiltrated plaza. Tracer took roll, before stating, "Team A. Stick close together and watch out for all your comrades. We leave absolutely nobody behind." Tracer looked around her, before spotting Pharah, the child of the reputable Ana Amari. "You sure you can handle heading the sniper division?"

"I can handle it," Pharah declared. "Just give me the go ahead."

"Alright, luvs," Tracer remarked rather informally. "No casualties, alright? Go."

Tracer tapped her chronal accelerator, before signaling Team A to follow right behind her. Before entering the plaza through the gated door, she took a deep inhale of the smogless air. It was snowing lightly, and the white particles landed softly on Lena's hair and clothing. The colors of the buildings surrounding them were vibrant oranges and reds, and there was no sign of life anywhere else in the world except the steady and shallow breathing of her comrades. There were gigantic murals adorning the floors of the plaza, murals of laughing and singing and dancing. None of the murals depicted war.

"What a shame," the main medic murmured, shaking her head.

"Yeah," Lena agreed. She stuck her head out slightly, only to spot several armed guards, most of them omnics. They were camping out, seemingly waiting for action to happen. Boy, were they in for a surprise.

"Ambush on my count," Lena whispered sharply.

One. Lena drew back her pistol.

Two. Genji tapped his fingers against the handle of his gun. Lena's mind cleared as she focused on her heart rate. All she could picture was the enemy.

Three. The guards didn't have time to draw their weapons as Team A worked at a speedy rate to shoot them down. No alarms sounded.

Tracer had no idea where the hostages were located within the plaza. So, she made a route to clear.

"We are sticking to the route," Tracer said. "Keep noise at a low. Follow my lead."

The team cautiously went through scores of rooms, offices, and stores, before determining that the west side of the plaza was vacant.

All of a sudden, just as they were moving towards the center of the gigantic plaza, several alarms blared into the abyss of the night. Several armed personnel came running out of the second story and began shooting at Team A, shattering the windows of the building Team A was situated in.

Team A immediately went into back to back circle formation, all while gritting their teeth through the absolutely horrid sound. Team A began firing at the enemy whilst simultaneously dodging retaliation bullets. Genji ran up to the larger omnic in the middle of the pack, before slicing its head off with a quick slice of his wakizashi.

All of a sudden, two Bastion units fell from the second story window. Tracer was quick to realize that her team was definitely not equipped to deal with the Bastions.

"Run for cover!" Lena barked at her teammates, breaking up the formation in order to hide behind heavy duty desks.

The desks were slowly chipping away as the Bastions sank hundreds of bullets in them. Lena whipped her head back and forth, looking for any possible faults in the enemy's formation. They were blocking every exit.

"Cease fire!" Tracer heard a man shout. Immediately, all of the Bastion units and soldiers firing came to an absolute halt. Lena perked up, a look of confusion plastered on her features. Everyone turned to her for orders.

"Cease fire!" she commanded.

"Aren't you going to come out?" Tracer recognized the man's voice from propaganda podcasts, complete with his signature thick accent.

Nevar.

Lena shut her eyes tightly for a few seconds. "Got my back, Genji?"

Genji nodded, signaling the go ahead.

Everyone, one by one, peeked their heads over the desks and observed Lena step into the open, her hands slightly shaking. Keep calm. Keep calm.

"I assume Overwatch sent you?" Nevar rhetorically asked.

Lena nodded. "Heard you're unwilling to negotiate."

"You heard correct. Now, I'm only going to say this once," he said, articulating his words slowly. "I kindly suggest you give us all of your weapons. Or else I'll have my men shoot up your entire team with a wave of the hand."

"Do as you're told," Tracer reluctantly instructed. This was definitely not part of the plan. However, it was the only viable option. The entire floor was guarded. Her team was fucked regardless of the cease fire. Morrison greatly underestimated the number of personnel under Nevar's command at the location. "Do it now. Line up."

Everyone's heads spun as an apprehended Team B irritatingly scurried behind Team A. They had been caught, too.

Nevar rolled his eyes and sighed. "Now."

* * *

Word got around the watchpoint quickly that the operation in Eruk went south. Nobody knew where Lena's team was held- and few knew if they were alive.

"I heard that Nevar's men killed the team and placed their mutilated bodies in front of the plaza as a warning," a younger recruit hauntingly stated while walking with a group of others as Widowmaker leaned against the building wall, listening in on their conversation. Widow didn't know what to believe when it came to Lena's status. There were dozens of accounts, many of which were simply outlandish and untrue.

Widowmaker waited until it was dark before she put on Lena's trench coat with quivering hands. She peered around the seemingly desolate shooting range, before flinging her rifle over her right shoulder. There was no missing that silhouette. And that ridiculous hat.

McCree sat at a table, rolling a cigarette between his spry fingers. The other hand firmly held a bottle of bourbon.

"Contraband, Cowboy," Widowmaker stated, taking the seat next to him.

"Well. A time like this calls for it." McCree offered her his cigarette, to which she accepted.

"I heard about Eruk," Widow said, initiating the conversation. "Did you know any of them?"

McCree nodded. "Unsettling what happened. Commander's been talking about putting together a rescue mission."

Widow perked up. "Rescue mission? They're alive?"

"Despite what you may have heard."

Widow drew in a deep sigh of relief. "I assume there are some rigid travel restrictions when it comes to entering and exiting Eruk?"

"Rigid? Stiff as steel. There's a ginormous land caravan attempting to flee to neighboring countries, but they're being detained. Good luck attempting to enter by land." McCree rolled his eyes. "It was a pain in the ass to get the UN to approve us operating in Eruk. Only way in is via aircraft."

"I see..." Widow murmured, completely unfazed by the challenge of entering Eruk. If she had a will to do something, you best fucking believe she would find a way to do it.

"It's gonna take weeks to devise a rescue plan. But the thing is, Nevar doesn't do weeks. The team will be dead in a few days, along with the hostages." McCree offered Widow a swig of his bourbon, to which she also accepted.

"Well. Let's hope it doesn't come down to that." Widow got up from her seat, a plan formulated in her mind.

"I think I'm gonna go take my mind off... things," McCree replied, not entirely sure if he could keep his liquor. His head pounded as he stutter-stepped towards the exit. "Have a good night."

Widow sat in silence for a few moments after he left, taking in a deep draft of his forgotten cigarette, before she noiselessly pulled up Lena's hoodie. It began lightly snowing, and she didn't look too out of place as she briskly walked deeper into the watchpoint with her head down and demeanor somber.

The main area of the watchpoint held an aircraft station, where aircrafts of all shapes and sizes would undock, unload, and take off at their convenience. Today was not an exception to this routine as employees shuffled about, moving out of Widow's way as she approached the directory. No aircrafts were headed to Eruk. However, a delivery freighter was headed towards a neighboring country in approximately an hour. That was enough.

"Excuse me." Widowmaker stopped a young man in his teens. "Where is aisle 202?"

The man took off his earpiece in order to hear Widow better. "¿Puedo ayudar con algo?"

"Por favor. ¿Dónde está 202?"

The boy gave Widow directions, all the while feeling put off by her aura of antipathy. He walked away unsettled.

Fewer and fewer people crowded the surrounding areas as Widow walked towards the direction of the freighter. She identified the freighter by the airline code on the side of the plane.

Widow waited for half an hour, before she entered the aircraft through the rear opening. The loadmaster barely finished loading the equipment. She paused as she heard a man sigh at the far end of the freighter, before he closed the hatch. Widowmaker vanished amongst the boxes of supplies as she patiently waited for the hum of the engine, signaling takeoff. After the watchpoint was plenty of distance away, she got up and out of her spot.

She made her way towards the open cockpit of the plane, where she encountered three crew members- the pilot, the copilot, and the loadmaster, presumably. Their chatter came to a halt as Widow blocked the cockpit entrance and exit with her body.

"Gentlemen," Widow purred, causing the crew members to eye one another in absolute and utter confusion. "A question. Will you be flying over Eruk today?" She stared directly into the pilot's eyes. He uncomfortably loosened his collar and stared at the British emblem plastered on her Overwatch jacket.

"Ma'am?" the copilot chimed in. "Who are you? Why are you-"

"I'm the one that is asking the questions." The pilot mumbled underneath his breath and reached for his com, before Widow snatched his arm midair. "I need a lift to Eruk."

"I'm... I'm afraid we aren't stopping in Eruk. Just flying over," the man replied in trepidation.

Widowmaker swung her rifle lazily from her shoulder to both of her hands. "Listen closely. I will give you a coordinate, which will be located in Eruk. You will land within a five mile radius of that coordinate. No more than five. If any of you even think about pressing that emergency button or speaking through any com-" Widow beckoned towards them, "- I will make you swallow a hot bullet. You are free to leave after you drop me off."

"Are you fucking insane?" the loadmaster idiotically piped in, causing the pilot and the copilot to attempt to shut him up.

The men eyed one another, as if they were formulating a plan to rush Widowmaker at the pilot's command. However, Widow was one step ahead. She slammed the butt of the rifle into the loadmaster's head, knocking him unconscious to the floor. "He's not needed, anyways," she carelessly stated.

The pilots had no idea who the fuck they were dealing with until Widow readjusted her gloves, revealing the unconcealed blue tint of her skin. Widowmaker had planned to kill everyone aboard the freighter after they landed in Eruk. However, the uncomfortable sensation in the back of her head reminded her that Lena absolutely wouldn't want Widowmaker to kill innocent people, even if it meant sacrificing her own wellbeing. Security in the watchpoint would definitely be upped after Widow's little stunt. They will finally install working security cameras in the desolate parts of the watchpoint, making Widow's stay at the watchpoint trickier than it already was. She would have to worry about that later.

The pilots plugged in the coordinates and surveyed the area, before realizing they were headed near an abandoned airstrip.

"Arrival time?" Widow asked, reapplying a bandage to her wounded hand. She paid little attention to the loadmaster as he went to his knees and groaned in pain.

"4:15 am."

"Parfait!" Widow clasped her hands, unusually enthusiastic. The pilot eyed Widow's rifle, before making preparations to land the freighter.

"I'm gonna need you three to step in the back of the freighter," Widowmaker ordered.

"What for?" the copilot asked.

"Désole. I didn't know I permitted you to ask a question."

"I can't wait for Overwatch to bust your ass. Crazy bitch," the copilot hissed.

The pilot roughly covered his colleague's mouth with his hands. "Shut the fuck up, Robert!"

"No, let him speak," Widowmaker commanded. "I'm curious as to what he believes he will accomplish by speaking to me like that."

"I'm not afraid of people like you."

Widowmaker had planned this entire hijack within the span of thirty minutes. Now that she landed, she didn't know what to do with the Overwatch pilots and loadmaster. "Step in the back. Now."

The men fully believed that they were being sent to their graves. Their confirmations were pretty much solidified when Widow asked the loadmaster to unravel the cords they had brought to secure the boxed goods.

Widow made all the crew members stand back to back, before she tied the men together. She made sure their arms weren't completely immobile, before she took off her boot and slid out her pocket knife. She threw it on the ground in front of her. "There's a knife. Use it."

By the time the men worked together to cut themselves out of the makeshift rope, Widow was already long gone, a mere memory in their shaken minds.

* * *

After everyone was searched, Lena's team was led into a sort of storage room, where the team discovered most of the rest of the remaining hostages. The official picked Lena out from the group and violently led her to a separate room, leaving the rest of her team behind.

There was no ventilation throughout the plaza. There were also no armed guards inside the small storage room- just the heavy sound of breathing filling the air.

"Is this all of you?" Genji asked, counting heads.

Initially, none of the original hostages replied. Then, after an awkward moment of silence, a woman with aged eyes spoke. "No."

"Where are the others?"

The woman shrugged, and Genji asked no more questions.

Lena bit one of the guards attempting to restrain her to a leather chair, causing the other guard to slap her sillily across the face. The guard cursed her out in his native tongue.

"What's your name?"

"Fuck you."

A guard nodded and paced in front of her, before deeply inhaling and punching her in the face with leather gloves. Lena screamed, unable to contain the tears from welling her swollen eye.

The guard pushed back Lena's forehead, strapping it to the chair she was bound to. She was completely at the mercy of these people.

"Let me ask again," Nevar vocalized. "Your name?"

"Oxton."

"Oxton what?"

"Lena."

"Callsign?"

"Tracer."

"Ah." Nevar made a tsk sound with his snakelike tongue. "I expected more from the infamous Tracer."

Lena squirmed underneath the restraints. "What do you want to know?"

"We want to speak to your commander."

"I can arrange that," Tracer assured. "There's a com in my jacket. Bring it out."

The guard pressed the com against Lena's lips. "Hello? Can anyone hear me?"

Static awaited Lena for a fraction of a second, before she heard, "Control room operator here."

"Transfer me to Commander Morrison." She eyed the official and the guards. "Right now, please."

Lena's heart raced as a minute passed with no response. She beckoned for the guard to answer the com as she heard Morrison greeted, "Agent Oxton." She couldn't hear what Nevar told Commander, but she could tell that Morrison said something that agitated the official. He paced out of the room scathing.

Widowmaker readjusted her hair tie, allowing the snow to slam against her rosy face. All of her makeup wore off. Her cheeks were a radiant pink, and the morning sky was streaked with splashes of white against an almost lavender backdrop. She was hidden within a patch of greenery. Widow fidgeted with the trigger of her rifle, lightly running her fingers on the sides and tapping against it. She scanned the area, covering the peeking sun with her free hand. Widowmaker only knew the location of the plaza because she sifted through Lena's letters disclosing mission specifics. Morrison, for an unusually large number of missions, purposefully avoided divulging revealing information via computer in fear that it would be leaked. If anyone attempted to find details revealing the mission in Eruk, they wouldn't find much by hacking into Overwatch's online systems of information.

Widowmaker saw smoke wafting through an open area of the plaza, as well as the silhouette of two guards, possibly snipers, situated uneasily on the rooftop. Amélie focused on her three major goals: get in, get Lena, and get out.

Widow wished she had a suppressor. No matter. She could make do with what she had.

She could barely hear herself think over the sound of the powerful wind rushing her ears. The wind would make it slightly harder to shoot a target. However, the wind would make it easier to suppress the racket the Widow's Kiss produced.

Widow peered through her scope, and the familiar sensation she had aimed to escape after her time with Lena overcame her.

Widow's senses heightened to an unnatural ability, her breathing slowed. She took in a deep breath, before adjusting her aim accordingly to the wind resistance.

The shot zipped through the air, and the guard slumped over almost cartoonishly. Widowmaker winced soon after she took the shot, hoping the wind was enough to muffle out most of the sound. Widow promptly took out the second guard, and she soon figured out that they were carrying shotguns, not rifles. Widow secured her grappling hook against the side of the orange building the first guard was situated on. She searched the guards, before dragging their bodies over the side of the building. She didn't cringe as she heard the sound of crackling bones hit the dirt below.

What now? Widow jumped down from the roof to the third story of the shopping center, clearing out rooms and stores as efficiently as humanly possible. She came across an unusual sight in one corner of a store.

Widowmaker stopped in her tracks immediately and stepped away from the bombs. Widow determined that the third floor of the plaza was all clear of personnel. She immediately ducked as she heard heavily cladded boots stomp across a bottom floor. The official spoke in his native tongue.

"Yes. I see," Widow heard him mumble underneath his breath.

A woman roughly asserted, "There's no sustaining this. It's only a matter of time before... before-"

"They're breaking. Give it a few more hours, and I guarantee they'll hand the weapons over to us."

The woman's click of the heels signaled that she was leaving to tend to business elsewhere. Widow waited until the woman was well out of earshot before she jumped from a railway onto the man's back, digging the side of her dagger against his exposed neck.

"Hello," she announced in his language. "Don't. Struggle. Or. Scream."

Nevar struggled against Widow's grasp. "It'll hurt more if you struggle," she maintained, speaking quickly. She knew anyone, at any moment, could appear and ruin everything. "Where is Lena Oxton?"

The man's look of confusion turned into one of desperation. "Help!" he managed to cry out, before Widow made the executive decision to move him out of sight and execute him. She patted the official down, before seizing his weapon and color-coded keycards. Not that she would need most of them, anyways. Most of the buildings Widow encountered were unsecured and easy to gain access to. However, as she made her way towards the center of the plaza, there were increasingly more locked rooms. Widowmaker grew less settled as she looked at her surroundings, which was riddled with evidence of carnage.

Widow was about to make her way to the dreaded first floor, when the faintest of sounds came from one of the storage units she could have sworn she cleared out. Something- someone- was whimpering.

Widow drew out her rifle, the sound becoming more audible as she stepped closer towards several larger storage boxes. There were woolen blankets spread out on the floor.

What the hell? Widow quietly began unstacking the containers, before coming across something she definitely never intended to come across.

The brown-eyed child cried louder the longer Amélie looked at her. "Oh, baby girl," Amélie soothed, setting her rifle down and taking the anguished one in her arms. "I'm here. I'm here." She couldn't have been older than eight months.

Amélie sat down on the floor, pressing the baby's head against her chest. She could feel her heartbeat pulse throughout her entire body. Widow had absolutely no idea what to do.

 **¿Puedo ayudar con algo? Can I help with something?**

 **Por favor. ¿Dónde está 202? Please. Where is 202?**

 **A/N: Life has really kicked my butt, hasn't it? More to come soon!**


	13. Chapter 13- Hesitate

The white tiled walls surrounding Lena were riddled with ants, and the putrid smell of rotten produce progressively filled her weakened lungs. She was malnourished, dehydrated, and fatigued. The swelling had gone down after the hits to her face.

Lena eavesdropped on bits and pieces of the conversation between the official and Morrison. Lena knew that Eruk wanted to change the terms of a recent trade deal, which included weapons and aircrafts. When the United States failed to agree on the changes, Eruk retaliated by placing an embargo on certain items, which wasn't effective. The United States then cut off all trading ties with the nation as revelations about the dictator's treatment of his civilians surfaced, thus prompting American residents of Eruk to be seized and captured as hostages as a desperate last resort to restart trade.

Now that members of Overwatch were under Eruk's custody, Eruk was hoping to get the organization to back them up and at least get the United States to start repurchasing oil, as the United States had been their biggest purchaser. However, Tracer had the feeling that Commander Morrison wouldn't get Overwatch to back up a harsh dictator, even if it meant putting her life at stake. By the looks of it, Morrison was stalling until he could send out another rescue mission.

Only one guard actively took the time to monitor her condition. She was grateful that he would give her water when she appeared as if she would collapse under her own weight.

Tracer heard the rattle of the doorknob, and she tensed her entire body. Every instance with the guard felt like the very last instance.

The door finally opened, and Lena let out the highest-pitched yelp as the guard reached out for her face. It wasn't until the guard took off the tactical mask did Lena recognize who was wearing the uniform. "Amélie! What are you doing here? How did you- when did you-"

Widowmaker placed a relieving kiss on her forehead. She worked quickly to loosen the leather straps with her blade, which was stained with the Nevar's blood. Lena didn't question the blood.

Lena wrapped her arms around Widow's shoulders, sobbing into her hair.

"Lena," Widowmaker sighed. "You're going to be okay. We're going to be okay..."

"How'd you get past the Bastion units?"

"What Bastion units?"

Lena didn't have time to elaborate. Widow spoke again. "We have to leave. Now."

"I can't leave the rest of my team and the hostages behind," Lena sharply whispered. "They'll die."

"I found a baby girl in one of the stores upstairs," Widow said, both of their tones low and quiet. "My plan, and only viable plan, was to find you, grab her, and leave. We can't save everyone. I just want you to be safe..."

"I can't leave them behind!"

"Overwatch is going to send a rescue team in a few weeks-"

"We both know that a rescue team won't come to save them in time. How did you get down here without encountering any personnel?"

"Lena, there are surveillance cameras on this floor. I also stole this uniform in the presence of surveillance. It's only a matter of time before my presence is going to be noticed." Widowmaker handed Lena the official's weapon, and Lena stood flabbergasted.

"Let's get out of here," Widow urged.

"I can't leave with you if it means leaving everyone else."

Widowmaker groaned. There was absolutely no time to argue. "Where are the rest?"

Widowmaker and Tracer spun their heads around as someone jostled with the doorknob.

Lena turned the weapon's safety off and pointed the gun directly at the door, waiting for the inevitable to happen.

The guard didn't stand a chance as Widow slammed the door with one of her legs and choked him out from behind.

Lena saw it. Widow's little smirk. The gleam in her lover's eyes. Widow immersed herself in the act of killing, as if it were a primitive instinct, something innate and deep-rooted. It was the part of Talon that would continue to live within her, no matter how many times Amélie ignored this aspect of herself.

Widowmaker took off the guard's tactical mask, relieved that this minor inconvenience was manifesting into a solution to their little dilemma.

Widow looked around the room, as if she was expecting someone to reveal themself at any minute. "There are smart bombs directly above us. I am making the assumption that they're motion-sensitive. They'll blow this entire section of the plaza into pieces." Widowmaker didn't know what setting off the bombs would exactly do, except result in uniform chaos throughout the area. Hopefully, it would create an opening to get the hostages out.

Widow began stripping the guard, which prompted Lena to shamefully look the opposite direction.

"Put this on," Widow calmly ordered, knowing full well that the uniform meant for tall, muscular soldiers would look absolutely baggy on a 5'4 petite British woman. The shoes? Well... even more ridiculous. However, it added height.

"I have a general idea of where the rest are," Lena stated. "My best bet is to smuggle them out."

Widowmaker was beginning to get more than annoyed. "And how the fuck do you think you'll accomplish that?"

Lena slightly jumped, surprised by the woman's harsh reaction. "I- er- don't really know. But I would rather die than leave this place with a guilty conscience knowing I could have done something."

Tracer jumped again as the alarm in the building went off. A shrill voice on the intercom jostled every living being out of their respective places.

"Do you understand what she's saying?" Lena asked over the clamor, as the woman was speaking the land's native tongue.

"Fucking shit," Widow exclaimed. "They're initiating a lockdown protocol and making all personnel sweep every floor of the plaza." Widow shut up as she heard the next bit of instructions. She translated, "They don't know for sure if I'm still on base. Good. Good. That's good..."

Widowmaker rambled to herself for a panicky moment, attempting to conjure up an escape plan, any plan, before she hastily peeked through the doorway. She observed several men pace around the area. She silently closed the door, before waving Tracer over and whispering, "Put on the mask. Quickly."

"The plan?"

"We're going to help them find me."

Tracer stood still for a moment, before following as Widow walked out of the room with a sort of abruptness.

Lena glanced up in order to better mimic the assassin's posture and overall demeanor. She found it surprisingly difficult to imitate. Widow held the position so forefront, commanding, and natural. Several soldiers glanced up to acknowledge their presence, before diverting their attention elsewhere.

"I believe I haven't cleared these upper and lower floors," Widow murmured as they walked further away from the bustling center, adjusting her mask with her middle finger.

Widow fell silent as they rounded the corner, feeling every eye on that strip fall on her. Except, every eye was a gun barrel.

Low and behold, the two Bastion units that helped force Lena's team to surrender pointed dead blank at the pair. The women stopped in their tracks, not making any audible sound. The Bastions recognized the pair's uniforms and pointed their barrels in the opposite direction.

Widowmaker looked over at Tracer to make sure she was in character, before striding up to the entrance of the building and fumbling with several keycards.

She managed to gain access, before she let Lena in and closed the door behind her.

There were no signs of hostages... yet. Instead, they were led into a sort of mini-control room.

Tracer and Widowmaker studied a diagram and map in front of them, noting that several Bastion units were inactive above them, awaiting instruction.

Widow went straight to work as she set her eyes upon the main computer.

"I recognize this building. I know exactly where everyone is located," Lena said, also taking off the visor.

"Good," Widow said, not looking up from the screen as she replied. Lena examined the tactical plans hastily stapled to the walls as Widow continued to work.

"All the Bastion units are successfully disabled. We should disassemble them with swiftness for extra precaution, in case my commands get overridden..." Widow's voice trailed off. "If they can be overridden."

"Never took you for a techie."

"I learned a few things from an old colleague," Widowmaker said, picking up her rifle. "How fast do you think you can break the Bastions apart?"

"How many?"

"You'll take 8, and I'll take the other 8. I say a good ten minutes. You're familiar with their structure, correct?"

"Mmhmm. I say ten minutes is adequate. Are there any personnel upstairs?"

"I doubt they would leave the hostages behind without any supervision. Let's head upstairs and take them out."

Widowmaker and Tracer jogged upstairs, appearing before a closed door. They could hear voices on the other side. Lena nodded as Widow looked at her, signaling the go ahead.

Widow opened the door and was greeted by three confused guards, all of whom posted their weapons against the walls as they took a stretch break.

Lena hesitated to act. Everyone looked so unthreatening, each of the men relishing in the spare moments they had in the open air. Luckily for Lena, Widow worked quickly. Their lives were ended in a second, Widow shooting each man point blank in their heads. They could all hear the hostages scream as Widow opened fire.

"Don't let them out yet," Widowmaker said, grabbing Lena's arm in order to prevent her from rushing over to the storage room door and knocking it down. "Bastions first. It's for the best that we take care of them before getting the hostages out."

Tracer nodded, trying her best to keep level leaded and calm. She worked twice as fast to take care of the units, all the while formulating an escape route in her mind.

"Why didn't you shoot the men on our command?" Widow asked while they worked in the same room to disassemble the Bastions.

Lena shrugged, concentrating on her work.

"When you lead the hostages and your team out, you cannot act with that same hesitation. You have to just act."

"What do you mean 'you'?"

"I'm going back to retrieve the baby I found," Widow said as she broke apart the units. "I'll create a diversion on the opposite end of the plaza. They've swept most of the plaza by now, and they'll go back to being active in this section."

"Are we gonna meet after?"

Widow contemplated for a minute. "It's not wise for me to meet you with everyone else. But, I can't leave on my own with the child..."

"How'd you get here?"

"Dropped off," Widow said, avoiding the fact that she basically hijacked a delivery freighter. "It was at an obscure location securely away from here. I have coordinates. You can walk there with the rest of the hostages in a decent amount of time. I doubt you'll be able to be tracked in this weather. I'll be there in 60 minutes. If I'm not there by then, leave."

Widow repeated the brief plan in her running mind over and over and over again until she reached the site of the explosives. Set them off at the time, grab the child, flee the area.

Widow's assumption about the smart bombs being motion-sensitive were going to be put to the test. She opened the door cautiously, before staying a sizable distance from the area and throwing a shoe in the store.

Nothing. Widow tried to set them off again. And again.

Widow frowned and waltzed inside the store, listening for the faint hum that signaled they were alive. Complete quietude.

Widow picked one of the bombs up, before realizing that they were knock offs. Completely for show. Completely useless.

She sifted through the boxes, before deciding that she'd have to resort to burning the building.

Widow momentarily gagged at the strong smell of sulfur, before locating the source of the stench. Fireworks.

It'll do.

Widow methodically placed her lighter flame near every fuse. After lighting the fuses, she ran the fuck away from the building. A flutter of butterflies tickled her insides as she waited for the cacophony to brew. She heard tumultuous zips and zooms and, the final act, a bang. The floor beneath her rocked to the point that she had to slow down in order to completely prevent her body from flipping over itself.

She grappled through what was left of that portion of the plaza, her ears ringing and her lungs feeling as if they would collapse under the weight of the world. She could hear the personnel in the dozens scurrying over towards the burning building.

Widow went towards the exact location she left the baby. She had decided earlier that, although the storage room was nicely ventilated and comfortable, it was unsafe to leave her there. Widowmaker was more than relieved to find the child hidden away behind several boxes near the waste bins on the side of the plaza, completely insulated and warm with the woolen blankets. She had fallen asleep after ten minutes in Widow's arms due to pure exhaustion.

The baby sleepily looked up at Widow, completely quiet and groggy. Widow heard the personnel act too close for comfort. She began her trek, making sure the child was secure in her arms before taking off.


	14. Chapter 14- It

Widowmaker didn't mind the heavy weight of the child, uniform, and handgun as she ran straight into the forest. All those years running with her bulky sniper rifle were good for something, she supposed.

The baby began to whine just as Widow felt as if her lungs would collapse under her weight. She stopped in her tracks, deciding that she was far enough to take a break.

"Shh," Widow soothed, making sure the little one was securely wrapped in the blanket. She could see her breath in front of her. "You're alright. You're alright..."

She sat down and slowed her breathing. "Lena should be around the area any second now. And then you're going to go home and have one hell of a story to tell when you're older."

Widow perked up as she heard the sound of a twig crunching underneath someone's shoe. She sensed that the sound came from her right side.

"Lena?" Widow whispered sharply, standing up and walking towards the source of the sound.

Nothing.

"Lena?" Widowmaker called out, this time asserting her presence.

A second twig branch breaking. This time, behind her. Something clearly wasn't right.

Not right at all.

Widow had little time to react as she heard the distinct sound of hands working to reload a weapon. She assumed it was a close range shotgun. The person's supposed proximity was close enough to render a shot fatal.

Widow moved just in time as the multiple pellets zipped over her shoulder. She fell to her knees, avoiding falling completely forward, as the baby was still in her arms. The only sound that followed for a moment was the sound of the baby bawling.

The snowfall had ceased some time ago, rendering Widow to quickly pan out her surroundings and determine that there were only two soldiers, only one of which appeared to be armed.

The soldier with the shotgun stood dangerously close and aimed at Widow's head, expecting her to freeze.

However, Widowmaker automatically picked up on the soldier's visual cues, however slight. Not to mention that she knew that type of shotgun only held two shells at a time, which were already used up, and that manually reloading it would take approximately 20 seconds. The soldier was threatening her with an empty weapon.

She secured the baby in one arm, before grabbing the muzzle and pointing the gun down at the ground.

The second shoulder lunged at her, digging his forearm underneath her chin in effort to choke her out. Widow let out a blood-curdling scream as he squeezed harder, knowing that she wasn't strong enough to pry his arm away from her neck unless she dropped the child with her other arm.

This can't be it.

Time came to a near standstill as Widow felt herself beginning to lose consciousness.

This was it.

The baby's shrilling scream of terror knocked Widow back to her senses.

This won't be it.


End file.
